Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
by AbstractError
Summary: A different take on Dawn of the Seeker, and who else might rise with her.
1. Introduction

Alright, this might catch you all by surprise. Not only because it is actually FINISHED (Yes, I know!), but because it is, well, the first thing I, Abstract, have done quasi-alone in a very long time, in a friendly competition with IvI.

Now, you see, as we were sipping some wine over Easter, we struggled to think which two DA characters would _least_ go well together as a romance goes. And well, you've seen the character listing 😊 (It was probably bad wine, but, hey-ho…)

IvI is writing his own, and we'll let you know when it's up. Should not be too long; I've picked Dragon Age: Dawn of the Seeker (the young hot-headed Cassie centered animation) as my setting, IvI's is very much different.

So, without further introduction, please proceed to probably the crackiest thing I have done in ages. Hope it gives you a giggle, and a thought, and thank you in advance for reading and commenting 😊

Cheers,

Abstract.

**P.S. & Serious Lore Note: **As is sometimes sadly the case, DA lore is inconsistent with itself, and there are two major inconsistencies here.

The first one is the timeline – World of Thaedas and World of Thaedas 2 place the events of Dawn of the Seeker long before the events in Kirkwall, and Cassandra in her very early twenties at the time of the movie. The movie contradicts this, and breaks the 'official' timeline, because, should DofS happened after Kirkwall, Cassandra would be in her mid to late 20s in DA:I. This is at odds with her age in the game, her official date of birth, and the actual transition from Divine Beatrix III to Divine Justinia V, and the beginning of Celene Valmont's reign. Thus, I shall stick to the official timeline.

The second one is the fact that Cassandra is actually given the Inquisition writ by Divine Beatrix, not by Divine Justinia. This does not contradict much, and in fact is consistent with the story Cassandra tells of herself in DA:I, so this one, I decided to keep as is.


	2. Fortuitous Encounters

**Alice:** Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?

**The Cheshire Cat:** That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.

**Alice:** I don't much care where.

**The Cheshire Cat:** Then it doesn't much matter which way you go.

**Alice:** ...So long as I get somewhere.

**The Cheshire Cat:** Oh, you're sure to do that, if only you walk long enough.

_-Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland_

* * *

'When I give you the signal, we make a run for it.' Cassandra whispered. Her grip on the elf was vice-like, but, and her dagger was at his throat, but she could have sworn neither thing impressed him one iota.

'An exceptional plan.' He grumbled.

The torches of their pursuers were casting long, menacing shadows through the woods. Distant one moment…close, the next.

'Where, pray tell would we be running to?' he asked.

Cassandra cursed under her breath, and tightened her grip even further. 'Away from those.'

'Ah, we shall be running away on foot from a group of mages who can turn into crows?' the elf politely inquired. 'Neither strangling me or attempting to give me a close shave will change the fact that we cannot possibly outpace them.'

They were so close now that Cassandra could hear their voices – still at a distance, but if she wanted to dash, dragging at least one of the murderers with her, it would be now or never. And, she grudgingly admitted to herself, he was _somewhat_ right; she was accustomed to running in full armour, but for as frail as the mage looked, he would be a burden.

'Alternatives?' she hissed, in his pointy ear.

'Yes. Untie my hands.'

'So you can turn into whatever scavenging bird, and fly back to your murderous flock?'

He sighed. 'I've already told you - I am not with them.' The elf all but hyphened.

'Oh, and you were just ambling though the woods, at night…'

'I am a keen observer of…'

They both froze; the blood mages were close enough to see, now, dark figures gliding through the trees. Fortunately, they were heading in the wrong direction, at least momentarily, so Cassandra had time to shift herself and her captive around the tree and out of sight, yet she knew it would be but a momentary respite. Their pursuers were spreading out, and it would only be a matter of time before they were found.

'…nature,' the elf finished.

Oh, if she had not needed him for evidence, she might have split his skull, right then and there…

_Byron's death cannot be in vain. _

'You will shut up, or I will…'

'Begin asking yourself somewhat intelligent questions?' the elf hissed back. 'Such as, if I were with them, why I am not shouting?'

'Dagger to throat,' she matter of factly replied.

'Was I also thinking about your dagger to my throat when the eve started? Might it also explain why I am not dressed like them, why I have no blood on my hands and why I don't even have a staff?'

Cassandra looked down at her captive, finding that he was looking up at her too; not with the gaze of a guilty man, but with the gaze of an annoyed teacher. She gritted her teeth, for he did look honest, he had indeed not shouted, and his heartbeat was steady, while her own heart was racing as if it had been trying to cross Thaedas in mere minutes. Still, what man would have feared nothing, if he'd not been convinced his allies would best her, and that the moment she set him loose…

'Untie. My. Hands. Now.' He said, even as they once more shifted along the tree. The others would surround them in but a moment, the lights of their torches allowed them but the smallest angle of darkness.

'Run,' she barked pushing him forth; unexpectedly the elf pushed back, with enough strength to knock the air out of her chest. He was much smaller than she was, especially in armour, but he clearly…

All the torchlight turned to them, and both breathed out as one.

_I will die here,_ Cassandra thought.

'Blessed beyond!' the elf exclaimed, dropping to his knees and slipping from her grasp. 'Humans! Alright,' he said, even as she desperately tried to catch the collar of his shirt. 'You want to run? Run after me.'

And she did, driven by no more than the desire for revenge; if she would die here, she would take at least one of them with her – he darted towards the torches, just out of her sword's reach, and she followed, not caring for the fact that the light behind her grew stronger. They'd dropped their torches, setting dry leaves on fire, crows cawed above, yet she would have this one, the one who left glowing blue tracks on the forest floor. She only saw shadow and those footsteps, ahead, but she ran, feeling blood in her throat, the despair of losing, feeling as though her next step would be her last.

Cassandra stopped short, not knowing whether she'd run fifty feet or a mile.

He had stopped too, and was looking to the sky. The moonlight danced, veiled by a murder of crows, and he was staring straight at it – waiting for them to land, waiting for them to swoop from the sky, waiting to laugh.

'Cave,' the elf said. 'Left of you. Get in, do not go far…'

'You think I'll help you bury me after you've killed me? Treacherous vermin! I will run you through!'

'Suit yourself,' the elf sighed, ducking into the darkness.

She'd not let him get away, not that easily – she followed, then stopped again, because she could truly see nothing ahead; there were so many crows above that they stole all light. Some were already landing, re-gaining human shape.

Cassandra spun on herself, sword at the ready. The one's she'd so foolishly lost was well away, she reckoned, but of those now surrounding her, she would take…

_None._

He grabbed her from behind, pulling her off her feet and into some corner – she could not tell whether it was a tree's hollow or, indeed, a cave, but she could definitely tell that it was some sort of hole. The elf run his bindings across her blade, freeing himself, and vanished – this time he left no tracks to follow.

She'd not fallen more than six feet, though, and she was unharmed – the veiled figures, clad in darkness and fire closed in on the hole she was in, in a small semicircle.

'What do you want to do with her?' one asked, leaning in.

She swung her sword at him, but he pulled back in plenty of time.

'One dead Seeker is enough for the night,' another responded. 'Let's just make sure they don't find this one. We can always blame them for losing the girl. If this one disappears…'

'Good thinking,' the fist one agreed. 'Let's just bury her where she stands. That's one cave she's not getting out of.'

'I'll run each and every one of you through hellfire!' Cassandra shouted. 'For the Maker!'

She jumped up, and almost made the edge, but raw, damp earth and tree roots and rocks gave in, and she slid back, scrambling, to a chorus of laughter.

'No, little fool, you will die in it. Seal the entrance.'

'There's the other exit…' someone in the darkness dared.

'If she tries it, they won't even find her armour. No one found anything of any of our men. Just seal her in.'

Her uplifted sword did nothing, just as Byron's had done nothing – fire, mud and rocks tumbled upon her; Cassandra fought, she desperately fought, batting debris to the side, and holding her shield to the flames, yet there was no pushing back, no chance. Her shield grew too hot, so she dropped it. As soon as she did, fire licked her breastplate, and, along with the damp earth, assaulted her throat, burning out and snuffing out each breath. It felt as though the entirety of Thaedas was collapsing around her, all light was gone and all hope was gone…

_Don't fight when you already know you've lost, _Byron had said.

She closed her eyes, and jumped back. She'd not obeyed him in life, at least she could obey him in death, thus she withdrew, for what felt like an unnatural distance. The same darkness that had pulled her in the cave was pulling her deeper within it.

The left hand side of her armour was fused to her body. There was no way back up; whomever had buried her alive had even had the irony to place her shield as the seal on the wall of solid granite that now blocked whatever hell-hole she had fallen into.

_They said there was another exit,_ she thought, crashing to her knees, but leaning on her sword to keep herself upright. _He said come in here but don't go to far in, well, if I…I am still alive._

She swallowed dirt.

_As long as I am alive and I have my sword I…_

_I will get to Val Royaux. I will tell them what happened here, I will stand, I will stand, I will stand._

Cassandra stood, and walked forth into the unknown, her sword more crutch than weapon.

'I need to find water,' she told herself, out loud.

…_water, water, water…_the cave whispered back.

'And then I will find a way out!' she shouted, to overcome the pain, the loss, the failure. 'I will find it, do you hear me?'

_Me, me, me…_

The sound reverberated, causing even more damp earth to fall on her hair and face. Dank, foul smelling blobs of it. Then, great chunks of it. All was collapsing about her again and she could not move fast enough. The mages outside had not killed her, not yet, but her hubris just might have. She limped faster and faster, but she could not go fast enough to surpass the speed at which the cave was collapsing. She pushed on nonetheless, tears carving grooves and hills over the caked mud.

There was a shimmer behind her, something blue, but she did not stop to behold it, or wonder why it was even there. She slipped on the moss under her feet, but on she went, until the ceiling of the tunnel she was walking was made of solid rock. Dawn gilded all things from somewhere above and Cassandra knew she must have walked for hours. A small lake glittered just beneath the opening.

Hope, the light of it, the fresh air – all dashed by the thing that came out of nowhere, spinning, live rocks, swirling towards her and she held her sword high – the thing did not care, and hit her, once, twice, so many times she could not parry anymore and fell back.

'Fen'Harel enasal enaste,' was the last thing she heard, before what she thought was the sound of death.

* * *

When Cassandra awoke, the cave was dark, but for a warm, merry fire.

She did not even feel that poorly…

_Not him again._

The elf from who knew know many hours before was sitting, legs outstretched, and squinting at a book, which he was turning ever which way.

'Would you consider supper before you try to kill me again?' he asked, not looking up.

She reached for her shoulder, and found it bandaged, but also surprisingly mobile and painless.

'There is a cup of healing brew on your right hand side. I'd say, take a sip. If you can stomach it, there is a good rabbit and…'

'Food?' she asked, sitting up – she looked down at herself, and found both of her breasts bound. 'You undressed me?' she shrieked.

'Nothing to be ashamed of. Most women would really love to have those twin moons,' he chuckled. 'Most men would like to bask between them. I did nothing of the sort, I just peeled your armour off, applied healing ointment, and waited for you to wake up.'

'You undressed me!'

'Yes, well, your armour was fused to your chest. Literally. We'll have to wait until…'

Cassandra picked up a small rock and threw it at his head. She was surprised she missed, but she did avenge herself in words.

'Fine. Your head looks like a man's down below, penis. Pecker!'

'I am glad to hear you say so,' the elf said. 'Would you care for food?'

She took in her surroundings, and him – and odd man, in an odd place. The place, at least, was beautiful, and upon more attentive inspection, it was no cave. It was an ancient hall that nature had reclaimed; its ceiling had collapsed, leaving them under the open sky. What she had taken for a lake was no lake either. Though its edges were dented, it was a purposefully built, circular pool, and the man had not brought her here by fortuitous accident.

His camping implements, few as they were, were neatly arranged. He'd clearly been using the place as base for his explorations for quite some time. Though what kind of man would revel in such solitude…

She was too tired to think, and, in truth, did not wish to; strange as it might have been, it was now very clear he was not one of Byron's murderers, and, as she felt famished, nothing else mattered for the moment.

'Food will be welcome.'

The man stood, and filled her a battered copper cup of whatever was brewing on his small fire. He'd said rabbit, but it tasted like so many other things beside, and she reached for a tiny bit of linen to wipe her mouth.

'They burned me from above,' Cassandra whispered. 'And from below. You saved me… How did you…'

'As I previously tried to impress upon you, I am a keen observer of nature. I knew of this cave. I knew they would not follow us in here. Don't slurp.'

'When I'm hungry I eat fast!' she shot, bringing up her dagger, and putting it under his chin, as he'd unwisely come close.

_He's undressed me but not disarmed me?_

She felt a tiny bit ashamed, and slackened her wrist.

'Just eat,' the man chuckled, leaving the cup un her hands.

She did. The stew was hearty, and brought warmth to her limbs. 'I thought,' she said, 'that when they melted the armour into my chest I was going to die.'

The man held her wrist and forced another bit of stew into her mouth. 'Well, I get the sensation that you don't like being wrong, but in this case, you were. You will be falling asleep in a moment, however… so eat, and…'

'I will kill them all!' she muttered.

'Can wait until morning.'

Indeed, it could; her limbs melted, there was no pain, there was just the warmth of his stew, and the strength of his arm as he laid her down.

'What was in this?' she whispered, not feeling further from death than she had felt moments before.

'Royal elfroot, rabbit, wine, felandaris, some mushrooms, more felandaris…Sleep.'

She found the moss softer than the softest mattress she had laid upon. It even seemed that her head was sinking into it, and, Cassandra thought, if this was death, she would willingly surrender to it…

'Ow!' she grumbled. She'd reached her arm out, and found a wild rose; a tiny, stubborn thing. She picked it up and beheld it.

'I know why the names of all of those herbs. What's this one for?'

The man looked up from his book, which, to Cassandra's tired an felandaris fed senses, looked askance.

'That one serves no particular purpose. It just reminded me of you.'

She propped herself up, not caring that the bandages were unravelling slightly. It was a thing of many petals, nuances…He'd brought her one that blushed from white to red; its petals danced about each other, frilly and perfumed and she breathed its perfume in…

'How did it remind you of me?' she whispered, nestling both her arm and her flower close to her chest. 'It is beautiful.'

'It is thorny,' the elf said, before she fell asleep once again.

* * *

Morning came, and Cassandra squinted at the first rays of sunlight; she felt well rested, but still slightly groggy, thus the smell of warm tea was welcome. She lifted herself on her arms, frowning a little of how light and fit she felt. Whatever he'd fed her through the night had worked wonders.

The elf was still there, and still reading. He peered over the covers of his book, and gave her a small smile, making her regret her words on the previous eve – he did look strange, but not extremely…bad. Aquiline nose, wide blue eyes, square chin, tall cheekbones… Even the fact that he was perfectly bald actually suited him somewhat. In fact, the only thing that she had been half right about was that he did look exceptionally masculine; perhaps, she thought, her description had been apt, yet she might have considered choosing her words better.

'Good morning,' Cassandra greeted.

'You are well?' he asked.

'Yes, thank the Maker…'

He smirked. 'I think you should be thanking _me_, but we'll let that pass. Help yourself to some tea. I would join you, but I detest the stuff.'

'Nothing in this that will put me right back to sleep?' Cassandra only half joked, filling her cup.

'Not unless jasmine has sleep inducing qualities that I don't know of. I will make you some eggs after I finish this chapter. There are a few nests nearby, I shall go fetch them, if you think that you will be fine changing your bandages on your own.'

She chocked on the tea, and blushed to the tips of her ears. Right, she reminded herself, he'd seen her naked – well, half naked, at least, but the point stood.

The man grinned, as if he'd been reading her mind, and set his book aside. 'No, I am not in the habit of undressing strangers…'

'Cassandra,' she chocked out. 'Cassandra Penthaghast, of the Seeker Order.'

'Ah, a name. No longer strangers, then - is that an invitation for me to undress you again?'

'No!' she barked. 'Ugh. Men!'

'I was jesting,' he replied, smiling. 'Solas.'

'Just…Solas?' Cassandra asked. 'No clan name?'

'Do I look like one of the elvhen you call Dalish?' he shot back, arching an eyebrow.

She measured him over the rim of the dented tin cup. 'No,' she admitted, a second later. 'But you do not look like any city elf I have ever seen, either.'

'That is, perhaps because I am neither.' Solas shrugged. 'So tell me, Cassandra Penthaghast, of the Seeker Order, what were you _seeking_ in that clearing last night? Other than some unfortunate to hit over the head, and drag into the bushes, that is.'

Cassandra bit her lower lip, hard. 'You saw what I saw,' she evasively answered; all her sense of ease had evaporated.

He nodded.

'So I did,' Solas replied, 'but simply seeing something does not bring me closer to understanding it. Your friend – and I am sorry for your loss – was probably on the holy mission of returning that unfortunate little girl to the mage prisons your Chantry calls circles. The others, I presume, were attempting to free her from that gruesome fate…'

'You are an apostate too, then.' Cassandra said, clenching her teeth.

'I prefer self-taught,' Solas smiled, thinly.

'That is why you lingered in the shadows, and did not intervene…'

'Partly,' he replied. 'The other part is that there were about forty of the other mages, and only two of you.'

'Well, apostate, you will be pleased to know that Byron was not taking that _unfortunate_ girl, who, by the way, controls dragons, back to the Circle.' She growled. 'In fact, he was kidnapping her away from the Templars whose holy duty it is to do so. Before your fellow apostates attacked him, I thought… I thought that for some unfathomable reason, he was betraying us all…'

'By the manner in which he was killed, I do not think that he was.' The elf said, dryly.

She nodded, and gazed into the distance for a few long, silent moments.

'Why…' she whispered. 'Why save me, if you well know that it is my duty to…'

'Had I known what your precise duties were, I might have hesitated longer. But you have no power here, Seeker; in fact you are in _my_ power. I can choose to leave you here to starve, if I so wish.'

Her pride bristled. 'You think you can do that? I've already seen that you can come and go as you please, there's nothing that…'

He chuckled. 'Lift your sword.' Solas said; the young woman frowned deeply. 'I mean it in all seriousness. Stand and lift your sword – take a lunge at me, if you like.'

Quick as lightning, Cassandra did just that; she did not reach for her sword though she merely grasped her dagger and jumped to her feet. The arrogance of the man deserved at least a scratch – who did he think he was, speaking to her as if she'd been an addled child…

He did not even move to parry, but, all of a sudden, her vision was stolen by a deluge of water, and she was deafened by a great, rumbling noise. Not magic, she thought, because she'd pushed against them with all her might and all her trained powers, and neither water storm, nor deafening noise abated. It did not matter – she knew where he was standing; once though the veil of whatever this was, she'd need no more than a heartbeat to regain her bearings.

Her dagger splintered against rock, and she was flung aside like a rag doll. The elf's shimmering barrier caught her before she could be truly injured, however, and, in it's gentle yet inescapable webbing, Cassandra looked up.

The cave monster from the night before was upon her again, a twenty foot pillar of sharpened, spinning rocks – a thing that needed no eyes to see, no ears to hear…And one of its limbs, that probably weighed as much as she did, was hovering menacingly above her. Another, sharper one, was an inch from her throat.

'Maker's Breath!' she whispered. 'What is…'

Behind the creature, the elf stood, and clenched his hands behind his back.

'That is a Varteral,' he said. 'In Elvhen, a guardian of that which remains. In plain terms, the reason why the mages last night did not dare come in here. It cannot be killed, or defeated,' he followed, as the monster withdrew towards its resting place in the pool, with heavy, lumbering steps. 'It can only be deactivated, and even that, only by one of the _people_. It will blunt any sword, and even fire spells will only cause it to temporarily stand down. Even scattered, it will rebuild itself in time.'

'The people?' Cassandra whispered, in a daze.

'Elvhen. Elvhen like me, who remember the language that was spoken when it was created. It does not eat, it does not sleep, and it is no mere trinket of the Children of the Stone, to be dismantled by removing screw and sprocket.'

The way in which the monster slowly sunk in its clear pool was mesmerizing, and the elf gently freed her of his web, by a wave of his fingers.

'In other words, Seeker, without me to pacify it, you cannot leave this place. But I can, and I presently shall…'

'To leave me to die?' she breathed, helplessly clenching the hilt of her dagger. 'After…you saved my life, you'd just…'

He frowned.

'To fetch the eggs I promised, and to award you privacy in bathing, and changing your bandages. Your shirt should be dry by now.'

'Can I bathe, with that…Vateral…in there?'

'Varteral,' he corrected, 'and, yes. It will not stir unless you attempt to leave the same way I shall. Or unless you step on his stones, as it were,' Solas grinned.

* * *

'You must let me leave,' Cassandra said. Of course, since her mouth was half full, it sounded more like ahm ma er mum eeve.

He frowned in disapproval, so she hastily swallowed – egg, and some herbs, rock salt from somewhere. Very good food; the Seekers' cantina could have used someone like this elf.

'You must let me leave,' she repeated.

'Of course I shall. Whenever you are ready to go.'

'You amaze me.' Cassandra said, setting her small wooden plate down in the moss. 'You must understand that it is my sworn duty to chase apostates, such as yourself…'

'I believe you have learned enough to weigh that sacred duty against sending all your brethren down here to die,' Solas shrugged. 'Only to find nothing – after you leave, I shall leave too. The thing I was here to find, the thing that the Vate'eraal was meant to protect is no longer here.'

She weighed the next bite on her fork.

'Someone stole it?'

'Or simply took it. I am not the only one of my kind, someone else could have controlled the guardian.'

'So you were not lurking in the bushes, waiting to be hit over the head, after all?'

'I do not cherish being hit over the head, no,' Solas responded, calmly. 'I shall nonetheless let you go as soon as you wish to leave – you are not my prisoner, and you know that any and all attempts at following me will only result in further loss to you and yours.'

'I don't want to follow you,' she whispered. 'By what was said last night, I can only gather that whomever those mages wanted to blame the Seeker Order for the kidnapping of the girl. The sooner I surface, and clear our name, the sooner…'

'Forgive me if I interject,' Solas said, 'but does it not strike you that you are eh, fifteen –'

'Twenty two!'

'And your political power rests on…'

_Crap._

'…your skill with a sword and the virginal purity…'

'I am not a virgin!'

'Of course not, Cassandra. Of course you are _not_. I did see your breasts, after all.'

She threw the well cooked egg, the wooden plate and the rusty fork aside, and jumped to her feet.

'Screw you, I'm just going to…'

'We've not arrived at that point in our budding enmity.' Solas said. 'Think. I have indeed saved your life, and while your gratitude is underwhelming, I should not like you to die so soon after. You will return to Val Royaux with nothing but your word, and the word of an order disgraced – I foresee heads rolling. You will need proof that you did not take the child.'

'I cannot prove that I have not done something,' Cassandra grumbled.

'Which might lead someone older and wiser to the conclusion that you might need some proof of a conspiracy against your order before you do return to Val Royaux.'

'Well, I am not going to get that by sitting here, am I? I must go forth! Open the path…Oh, wait, Solas of no clan,' she said, narrowing her eyes. 'You are delaying me because there's something else you would like to tell me, isn't there?'

'Other than ask you, why, if you liked my eggs, you so cruelly tossed them aside?'

'I am never going to live the undressing part down, am I?' she sighed.

'It is you, not I that seeks innuendo everywhere,' the elf responded. 'I was merely remarking upon the pointless sacrifice of harmless birds, and at the fact that you do reinforce the feeling that humans cannot be grateful for what they are given or clean up after themselves. No, Seeker, I am slightly delaying you because if I were you, I would ask myself a few questions before departing.'

'Like…'

'Such as, if your friend took the girl from the Templars, how would the blood mages know where to find them both? This is not exactly the Imperial Highway – they knew precisely where he was heading, and the path he would take.'

Cassandra blinked, twice, forgetting all about the eggs.

'Val Royaux is a mere half hour's ride away. How did forty or more mages know that your friend had the girl, and assembled in that short a time?' Solas patiently repeated.

'Hah. Blood mages. Dragons – ergo, Tevinter. And, Tevinter speaking stones.' Cassandra proclaimed.

'Did my pointy ears deceive me, or were those mages _not_ speaking Tevene?' he mercilessly returned. 'To me, they were speaking the common tongue, with Orlesian and Ferelden accents. No touch of Tevene. Not a single one of them cried _Manaveris Dracona_ or some such nonsense. None of them had a blood slave, and more importantly, they were seeking the means to enslave a dragon, not worship it. No, they were not Tevinter mages.'

'But only Tevinter Magisters master speaking stones,' Cassandra said, softly.

The elf scoffed. 'No. The _people_ mastered such things long before they did. The elvhen…'

'I understood what you meant by _people,_ this time around.'

She slowly sat down, and somewhat apologetically collected her wooden bowl from the moss; hoping he would not notice her, she started to hunt the fork with her foot as well.

'You were looking for an ancient speaking stone. Something that belonged to the elves, a long time ago,' she slowly said. 'The thing that your stone guardian was meant to protect.'

He nodded.

'But your guardian only lets elves through.' Cassandra reasoned. 'These mages were all human, and all afraid of it. Someone else, someone like you, must have been down here before. You think that my enemies speak via these stones, too.'

'Yes.' Solas said. 'Still, the mages last night did mention that they had sent men down here. Perhaps one of them made away with my prize, leaving the others to their fate. I cannot know.'

'You still want your speaking stone back.'

'Just as much as you want your honour restored.'

'Ugh, can you talk plainly?' Cassandra grunted. 'Because that sounded like you wanted me to help you recover your artefact, and I don't have time…'

'I was actually saying that you need me to help you find your evidence, if our reasoning is correct.'

This time, she was truly taken aback. 'How would you do that?'

'The speaking stones,' he explained, crossing his legs, 'see each other all the time. Unlike in Tevinter, where humans have learned to protect their communication from each other, I highly doubt your enemies have mastered the artefacts of my people to the same extent. It would be very fortunate if we were both after the exact same stone, but even if we are not, if we find one, we will find all the others, and thus, the man – or woman – who set you up last night.'

'Your reasoning is fair,' Cassandra said, still sorrowfully shaking her head. 'But while I can pretend we've never met, I cannot work with an apostate.'

'Let me guess, your righteous sword will attack me on its own?' he smirked.

'No,' she frowned. 'You're right, someone did wish to harm the Seekers, and you are right, I cannot charge into Val Royaux on my own, not knowing who I shall be facing. If I let you help me…'

'…if we help each other…'

'…if we help each other,' she sighed, 'I will not be able to hide the fact that I have worked with you. No one will believe that a twenty-something, hot-headed fighter somehow mastered elven artefacts. Whatever good you will do for the Seekers, whatever kindness you have already shown me, we will have to take you to a circle. Not doing so would cast even longer shadows on our reputation, and I… I've already lost someone I regarded as a father and a mentor. I cannot lose my order, too.'

There was kindness in his gaze. 'You must be truly lonely,' he noted.

'Yes,' Cassandra tonelessly said. 'I am. And people of your sort have taken…'

'People of my sort?' he coldly asked. 'Elvhen?'

'No-no,' she rushed to respond, understanding that she had unwillingly injured him, though how, she did not know, 'blood mages…'

'I'm not a blood mage,' Solas said. 'Not all apostates are blood mages, Seeker.'

She did not truly hear him.

'Blood mages have killed my brother. Now, they have taken Byron. I…'

His light touch on her wrist caused her to look up in near fright. It was as though she had been talking in a dream.

'I am not a blood mage, Cassandra Penthaghast.' Solas repeated. 'But, I understand.'

He stood from her side, straightened and smiled.

'You will need to leave before I do, I'll open your path. I've also taken the liberty of…'

'You're certainly good with taking liberties,' she muttered.

'And you are very good at speaking out of turn,' Solas replied, sternly. 'You have a pack ready – some fresh shirts, a replacement for the dagger you destroyed, and enough supplies to last you a few days, if you are frugal. There is nothing that I could do for your armour, I am sorry.'

She smiled, despite herself. 'When did you have time to do all that?'

'Let us just say I was not particularly comfortable sleeping next to a mage hunter,' the elf shrugged. 'I knew you could not leave so…That should reassure you that I did not spend the night staring at your twin moons…'

'Ugh! Tell me that was _not_ innuendo!' Cassandra angrily said.

'I am a man and have eyes,' he laughed. 'And I do imagine your chest looks much better healed then when first and last I saw it – yet, worry not! I am more into, eh…Shall we say, other curves? Placed lower on the female body.'

Her mouth hung ajar.

'Did you just say you don't like my arse?'

'Did you just say you cared whether I do or do not?' he shot back.

'You're insufferable!' Cassandra exploded, darting to her feet. 'I am happy we won't be travelling together – where's my pack? I will be glad to see the back of you. And that's not bloody innuendo, stop laughing! Maker!' she shouted, grabbing the small satchel he'd pointed to, and slinging it over her shoulder. 'Let me out of here.'

'As the lady Cassandra Filomena Nicoleta Florentina…'

'I'm going to punch you! Where, in the Maker's name, did you learn _that?_'

'Book I was reading, last night. The one that you thought I was twisting every which way?' Solas responded, still chuckling. 'Nevarran royal bloodlines are complex. I told you I don't undress strangers - your friend called your name, long before you hit me over the head.'

And, just like that, the light mood and the anger were gone; they both sensed it – the elf's eyes clouded with sorrow, so much so that Cassandra could have sworn they'd changed colour.

'I apologise,' he said. 'That was…inattentive of me. Come.'

She followed him to the stone wall, dragging her feet through the moss, and waiting until he'd fully turned around to wipe her tears off.

'Fen'Harel enasal enaste,' Solas said, and the well knitted rocks, as well as the curtain of vines that hid them slid aside, opening the passage. He, too, stepped aside.

'Fare you well, Cassandra,' he said – and she felt sorry to leave him behind, without…

'What do those words mean?' she asked, lingering between the dreamy cave, with its crystal clear pool and its deadly guardian, and the grassy, sunny hills that unwound before her.

'Something very few remember,' Solas said.

He stepped back, she stepped forth, and when it did occur to her that the man did deserve at least a thank you, there was nothing behind her but a stone wall – the face of a cliff. And he was gone, and…

She had no idea where she was.

'Waaait!' she shouted, at the rock. 'Solas, you can still hear me, come on! I know you're on the other side of that wall!'

'Yes.'

Cassandra could do naught but imagine he was rolling his eyes.

'Where should I be heading?'

'That greatly depends on where you are going.'

'No kidding!'

'…jesting…'

'Where should I be heading?'

'My way or every other which way. My way is a shortcut.'

* * *

And here we go :) Don't worry about Solas, he's only going to grow more in-character as this progresses. For the moment, I think he's just pushing Cassie's buttons because, well, she is funny. Thank you for reading and commenting,

Cheers,

Abstract


	3. Sweet Dreams

There are no shortcuts on the road to glory.

-_Logo on side of truck stuck underneath too low bridge._

* * *

'I don't suppose you have any levitation spells, or something of the kind?' Cassandra asked.

'Unfortunately, no,' Solas responded.

They were both staring up at the almost vertical, and completely bare mountain face – and just by stealing a glance at the elf, Cassandra could tell he was as disheartened as she was. Maker, the thing went a thousand feet straight up. There had been some sort of rudimentary staircase, here, once, but it was completely worn out, its steps as slippery and unforgiving as the rest of the rock.

'Well,' she sighed, in defeat, 'you are not the master of shortcuts you thought yourself to be, at least.'

He shrugged. 'This should have been a shortcut,' Solas earnestly replied. 'Lazzaro normally has a climbing cage down.'

'A climbing cage?'

'Yes – one gets in it, rings a small bell to announce that one is there, and then Lazzaro pulls the cage up. Very interesting sprocket mechanism. The fact that it is not down…'

'Visit him often, do you?' she shot; she did regret the tone of her words a tiny bit, but she was furious. Granted, not at Solas – for once. Both Seekers and Templars had suspected that Lazzaro, their elven informant was duplicitous for years, and had only told them of apostate mages that crossed his threshold only when it suited him. Neither organization had been able to prove it, though, and now she'd just found out why – neither Seekers nor Templars had known that his hut was accessible from the mountain side. The mechanism Solas was speaking of must have been well hidden.

'Even I need supplies from time to time,' Solas earnestly responded, still staring up. 'I am surprised that you know him, Seeker, though probably… given the disgusting nature of the creature, I should berate myself for not seeing it sooner. He is precisely the type that would play both sides. Yet, that is not what concerns me.'

'What does?'

He smirked.

'The fact that the cage is not down can only mean two things,' Solas said. 'He already has visitors, or he does not want any. He's not the kind that would turn away gold, so I fear the former.'

'You think my enemies got here before we did?'

'I hope not, and he is simply helping one of my _ilk _escape your order's shackles, but your enemies had a good night's head start…'

'…and if we both, independently, thought of him as our first port of call…' Cassandra said.

'Others might have, too,' he nodded. 'How do you normally reach him?'

She sighed, and let her shoulders slump.

'Never been here myself,' Cassandra reluctantly admitted; she did feel ashamed, but, in the end, meeting with such people as Lazzaro was not for the barely initiated. 'But the path we take would require us to go all the way around the mountain. I don't have time for that. We…_I_ need to climb. Thank you…for showing me this. I wish that I could promise you that I will not share it with my order, but I cannot.'

'Nothing in the world can stop you from doing what you wish to do,' Solas replied. 'If you do not wish to share this path with your order, you do not have to do so.'

'I wish it were that simple,' Cassandra said, awkwardly adjusting her pack.

'I did not say it was simple. No choice ever is. Go ahead. Climb.'

_Is this where we say goodbye? _ She wondered.

'Perhaps closer proximity to your lower curves might endear them to me,' he off-handedly said.

If Cassandra had been a kettle, she imagined she would instantly turn red and start blowing hot steam out of her ears.

'Did you just say that you're going to climb behind me just to stare at my…'

'No,' Solas chuckled. 'I merely implied that it would be the only positive part of the experience. Go.'

'If you're dead set in climbing with me, why don't _you_ go ahead?' she spat.

'Because if you slip, while you are ahead of me, I can catch you with my barrier spell. If you slip while you are behind me, I cannot promise the same and I am not strong enough to catch you, or lift you without magic.'

'And now you just called me fat,' Cassandra mumbled.

'Or I just called myself an elf, five inches shorter than you are, weighing far less than you do, a lot older, and far less physically able than you are. Just climb, will you?'

'Maker,' Cassandra grunted, looking up. 'If ever there was a hell…'

'It's up there,' he said. 'Shall we?'

* * *

'Andraste, that was…'

She grabbed him by the wrist and hoisted him up, sitting him upright on the wooden platform she'd just reached. The first point of respite in the climb.

'Steep.' Solas breathed, ungracefully dropping by her side. 'Blessed beyond, I thought that staircase, or whatever mockery of it that was would never end. Water?'

'Yes, thank you.'

Cassandra drank a good gulp, and sighed with pleasure.

'Thank you for actually thinking we would need water once we got up here,' she said.

'You were carrying everything else,' Solas replied. 'I could at least carry water.'

They both looked up, and Cassandra passed him the water pouch. Whomever was up in the wooden cabin was either pacing in great nervousness, or packing in great haste. It did not really matter – looking up was ill advised, for dust, wood splinters and more dust rained down.

'More water,' she said. The elf passed the pouch back. 'Are there any fat elves?'

'Excuse me?' Solas whispered, sounding offended.

'I can only hear one person pacing, and they are pacing like a well fed druffalo. You are the only one who has actually met Lazzaro, so I am asking whether he's fat or not.'

'He is. Exceedingly so… What are you planning? Cassandra, wait!'

She sprang up though the trap door above, sword in hand and fire in her eyes; she thought that she would manage to get the edge, but the platform was so old and decrepit that her weight collapsed it, and caused her foot to slip through the wood, and on Solas's head.

'Blessed beyond! Humans!'

'Push me up now, complain later… That's my hind side, you just grabbed it!'

'I do not see what else I could grab! Your hind quarters were coming at me a mile a second…'

'…and one, two, three, hoist up! Hello. Lazzaro.'

'That was ominous,' Solas mumbled, from below.

_Nothing more ominous than what is up here,_ Cassandra thought. _Maker._

The entire wooden shack was a full display of unholy…_things._ She did not even recognise half of them. There were organs, in jars, herbs, everywhere. Limbs cut off of babies, swords, daggers, spears, and a fat elf, caught with a pack in his hands.

'Solas?'

'I am coming. Process of which might have been faster if you had not stepped on my head. Or just not destroyed the floor.'

'Never mind, get up here. Because if you don't, your fellow elf will be disemboweled.'

Lazzaro was not only fat, he was filthy. He reeked of sweat, stale wine and some sort of herb Cassandra did not know.

'No, no, no!' he cried, as if the tonality of a stuck pig might have helped him. 'No! I am leaving, I am leaving, this is my…Please…The others…The others…'

'What? Who?' Cassandra said, placing her new dagger under the fat elf's throat.

'I cannot tell!' Lazzaro cried. 'They'll…'

He all but turned to mush. She flattered herself in thinking that it was she who was that threatening, but Lazzaro did not grow pale at her sight. He turned pale, all wine enlarged veins suddenly dry when Solas climbed into sight.

'Fen'Harel…enasal…enas…' Lazzaro mumbled.

'Wrong pass word for the day,' Solas replied, standing. 'Answer the Seeker. With names.'

'Seeker! No, not the Seekers again! You doomed me in the first place, I cannot, will not!' Lazzaro wailed, though, for as strange as it might have seemed, he was more terrified of Solas than Cassandra's dagger. 'I beg you, master, have I not…'

_Master?_

Lazzaro dropped to his knees, continuing to wail and yanking out his greasy hair, like an old wife in mourning.

'I've done nothing but your bidding…'

'No,' Solas calmly replied. 'You most certainly have not. Cassandra, take an ear off.'

'What?' she breathed.

'Take an ear off. Then, the next time he lies, take the other ear off. Then, a finger. Then, another finger. How much of him will be left entirely depends on himself.'

She grinned from ear to ear. 'I like how you think. What say you, Lazzaro?' Cassandra hissed. 'Names for limbs. Seems a fair trade.'

'You don't know what you're doing,' Lazzaro whimpered. 'You don't know the forces…'

Cassandra placed her dagger above his right ear. 'I didn't hear a name.'

'Frenic!' the fat elf shrieked. 'Frenic!'

The Seeker and Solas frowned in unison.

'Who the Abyss is Frenic?' Solas said.

'Their master! The first of the crows, the caller of dragons…Frenic…'

'I think he's just saying random things, now,' Cassandra smirked, pressing the dagger enough to draw blood.

'No, please, I am telling the truth – I must leave, leave this place before he returns. You will know! You will know…He has your speaking stone!'

'Ah,' Solas said. 'And why?'

'He needs it to reach someone in the Chantry. I know no more…'

Solas cracked his fingers, but his tone remained even. 'No, Lazzaro, the correct answer is that he has my stone because you gave it to him, and not me, after you found it in the ruins. I would hardly call that satisfactory service…Think well on your next words, if you do not wish to be chased by wolves as well as crows.'

He leisurely strode to Cassandra's side.

'I presume you have a hole you are planning to hide in,' he followed, clenching his hands behind his back. 'Crows, I think, are not known for their great sense of smell, but wolves are.'

'Euch,' Cassandra said, unwillingly drawing back from the puddle of urine that was growing around her feet. 'Now you've literally pissed yourself…'

It did not matter much, at least not to Lazzaro, for his next words came out in an almost incomprehensible babble.

'The gathering. They are calling dragons for the gathering – the divine must die, so that another may rise…'

'Now I think he is saying random things,' Solas said, frowning.

The woman shook her head, in dismay.

'You can't have lived in the woods for so long that you do not know that the great gathering of the Maker's faithful will take place in Val Royaux in five days from now. It only happens once every decade…Stay put, vermin!' she shouted, when Lazzaro attempted to scramble away. 'Another _what_ may rise?'

'Another of your Divines, presumably,' Solas shrugged. 'Not even remotely in my sphere of interest, Seeker, though when I am not pressed for time, I do enjoy a little bit of political intrigue. Yet now, time…'

'Time, time, there's no more time!' Lazzaro yelped, pulling away from Cassandra, and not caring that he cut the tip of his own ear off. 'They are coming back, now, coming for me, for you…'

The Seeker's first temptation was to slap him across the face – a tried and tested way of making folk come back to their senses, but then she heard it too: not the flapping of wings, but the trotting of horses. The entire cabin shook, and dust rose from the floor as well as poured down from the ceiling. It was shabby to begin with, of course, but those were not five horses, there were at least ten, heavy and armoured.

She drew her sword, gritted her teeth and looked at Solas. He slowly shook his head.

'Too many,' he calmly said.

'I need to see who,' She whispered back. 'I need…'

'You'll see, you'll see,' Lazzaro madly laughed. 'But you won't see what you should – the greater danger, the enemy…'

She did not pause to wait for him to finish. By now, to Cassandra's eyes, the fat elf had completely lost his senses. Quick as lightning, she jumped down through the hole in the floor, praying that the platform would hold – without Solas' barrier, it might not have, and when he gracefully landed by her side he shook his head in annoyance, yet for once, said nothing. Both of them huddled under the remainder of the planks, and Casandra prayed to the Maker that whatever was left of the floor would last.

She could not see much, but the sound of heavy iron armour boots was unmistakable – she just desperately wished that she could see who was wearing them, so she inched forth a bit, and pulled back sharply when a large splinter fell, grazing her cheek.

'Well, well, Lazzaro,' someone above said. 'Did you have guests, or is it simply that you refused my good advice of laying, or just easing off the slags and worms you knife ears eat that caused this mess?'

Solas grabbed her in his arms, once again showing that for one that looked so frail he had some strength, and quite the reach, for he pulled her back, dragging them both even further into the shadows. She felt odd solace in his tight embrace, and pulled her knees to her chest too. She realised that she was holding his hands in her own, but it helped her make her small, and pulled her knees even tighter to her chest.

'N..no guests, sire!' Lazzaro babbled above. 'I just slipped and…'

'Also cut himself shaving, though he has no beard. Or maybe just decided to cut off his own ear to pretend he's human,' another remarked; all laughed. 'Looks like he was heading somewhere…'

'In a bit of a hurry, too. Why is _that_, rabbit? Suckling from two sheep in Orlais no longer agrees with you?'

'I am no longer fit to s-serve – mercy, sire, mercy, I will go from this place…'

The heavy steps paused. 'Of course you will; the land of the living has no use for you. But you will only go once tell us who you betrayed us to, and you explain to the Commander why, if you have had no guests, there is a satchel of nice linen shirts that would not fit you in a hundred years, and fresh fruit you would never touch, right here, by the edge of this gap in your crappy floor.'

'Shit,' Cassandra whispered.

'You'll either continue to lie, and die inch by inch, or just tell us who was here before us, and you will mercifully follow that sack all the way down to…'

The satchel landed on the platform with a dry thump, and both Solas and Cassandra cringed.

'Double shit,' she grunted.

Solas let her loose. 'Can you make the jump?' he whispered pointing to the climbing cage; it was rattling to the wind ten feet away, a thing of rusted iron, fit for only one, hung on questionable hinges…

Cassandra had been so blinded by anger that she had not seen the mechanism on her way up, but she plainly saw it now, and it was no more discouraging a sight. All decaying sprockets, and, most importantly, a lever that controlled the entire thing. Without someone to pull it to the top, or keep it from unwinding on the way down…

'Look below,' the man who led the others above ordered. 'Is that how you got all your apostates past us, you fat slug, how you thought that…'

A young man, with barely enough beard to hide his zits, yet wearing heavy armour, stuck his head out in the open, and there was no more time to think of rusty hinges, sprockets or levers. Cassandra grabbed him by the edges of his breastplate and easily puled him down, onto the platform. She saw the markings on his armour as he flew past her eyes, and they almost cut her momentum short.

_It was a Templar armour. Templars. Oh Maker, not the Templars…_

'Cassandra, jump!' Solas shouted, no longer caring for silence; she'd dearly have liked to obey him but she could not look away from the young man's face, from the imprint on his breastplate – the elf hooked her by the collar of her shirt, just as the rickety platform, overloaded by the armour began to give.

* * *

She could truly not remember whether she'd jumped or not, or whether he'd simply tossed her. She thought it was the former, as the latter was rather unlikely – however, Cassandra Penthaghast knew that she would never, in her life, forget the mad rattling of sprockets and chains, nor the face of the young templar, as he fell into the void, alive and full of dread, as he fell past them, bouncing on the rocks of the cliff.

'Top or bottom?'

'What are you on…'

'Bottom it is for you, then,' Solas said, quickly turning both of their bodies around, amid the rubble of the cage and the platform, and oh, Maker, too close to the scattered remains of the young Templar than she cared to see.

Cassandra closed her eyes, and the elf straddled her and put his forearms close to either side of her face, then, before she could protest, or administer the kick to the tenders he so richly deserved, he knitted his fingers behind her head, and shielded her eyes with his forearms too.

His barrier, which he'd turned on and off during their tempestuous descent rose about them once more, was showered instantly showered with yellow blobs of fat, sickly pink skin, something grey, something brown and crimson, overall, crimson…

A half severed elvhen ear slipped slowly on the side of the mage's dome, slowed by the fat blobs.

'They threw Lazzaro off the cliff.' She whispered, in Solas' shoulder. 'They just…'

'Judge not harshly, we were not about to leave _that_ unfinished either, Cassandra,' he responded, in a dry tone.

'I was going to say that they just dropped him from the cliff right on top of us, Solas, what the hell! They know where we are, so get off of me, you lecherous…'

'Would you like all the debris on top of us to come down on top of you, rather than my barrier? Because in that case, I can just roll over, take my barrier with me and leave all of Lazzaro for you to clean off yourself. Good luck in doing that without taking your shirt off.'

'Ugh.'

She considered for a moment. 'Alright, me on top now,' Cassandra said – without warning, she rolled them both to the side, then cursed as she deeply grazed her elbow on the young templar's shield.

'Don't look,' the elf said.

'I have to,' she responded. 'He was young, so his breastplate might fit me, though just barely…'

'Cassandra, do not look,' Solas repeated.

She kicked off him, stood, put her fists to her hips then looked at the scattered corpse of the Templar.

'I am not taking orders from…'

One of the Templar's blue eyes was hanging by a few veins, on the side of the breastplate. His comrades were kicking stones from above, laughing into the echo.

'They know where we are,' the elf whispered, in her ear. 'You cannot fly up that mountain while I suspect the Templars will have their allied crows pecking at us soon. Let's go.'

'I will have them…I will have them…'

She was crying; the man knocked the blue eye off the breastplate with an indifferent flick of his fingers. 'Have the shield, and the breastplate' he whispered. 'You can have nothing else for now.'

* * *

Cassandra stood underneath the waterfall and cried. Roared, cried, punched some rock, then roared with fury once again.

In the end, she just settled her elbows on her knees and wept.

_Templars, Templars…_

'Templars!'

'Turn around.'

'I won't,' she muttered. 'I am naked and you are certainly not getting any more views of my moons, above or below on the female...'

'Unsolicited views, you might add. I did not mean for you to turn and face me,' he clarified. 'Turn away from me.'

It was one more of those hidden waterflows that she had never seen before; the lake was warm in places, and it had blazing hot water in on a one foot radius, and freezing cold water the next footfall. He knew all these wondrous pools, and in this one, where he'd more or less dragged her kicking and screaming, the moon was pouring down with a lukewarm waterfall, and washed tears away. From one's face, Cassandra thought. Never from one's heart.

He plopped into the water just opposite of her, and just far enough so that she could not tell whether he too was in the nude or not. She did not care one way or the other. The Templar Order had betrayed the Seekers, the Templars were consorting with apostate mages, blood mages…

'Turn around, Cassandra,' he said; the roar of the waterfall did not allow her to distinguish whether his voice was commanding or not. 'You still have brains in your hair.'

'Pecker!'

'It's getting old,' he sighed. 'Did they not teach you more creative insults, in that wonderous institution that clearly taught you how to rush at things head first, without a plan? Apostate and knife ear won't work,' Solas chuckled. 'Telling a man what he is is not insulting.'

'I don't see,' she rebelliously muttered, crossing her arms over chest, but nonetheless obeying him, 'how you could help. I've just had a tonne of water pouring over my head…'

'But you did not actually wash. That bit is entangled.'

'Oh, and you carry combs around with you, do you, bald man?'

'No, but I have hands,' Solas said, sternly.

Whatever concoction he poured over her head smelled powerfully of mint, and it was oily, yet the patient work of his fingers though her hair was pleasant enough. Cassandra had never been one for beauty, but, she admitted to herself, not having her hair matted with elven grease and human brains was not a question of vanity. Within a day, she'd start to reek just as Lazzaro had. Good Maker.

_Templars…_

'I knew they hated us,' she whispered. 'But I could never have imagined the extent.'

'I could not have imagined it either,' Solas said, sounding distracted. 'Did you win some mage burning competition, recently? Rinse, please,' he said, before she could answer.

She did, putting her head under the waterfall again, and running her fingers though her hair – to her surprise, her tresses felt smooth, silky and light. And, perhaps more importantly, completely clear of human remains. Cassandra came out from under the modesty preserving sheet of water when she felt him distance himself. It was night, but it was not that dark, and…

She submerged herself down to the shoulders, her arms still fiercely crossed over her breasts. 'Can you turn away, please?' she grunted.

'Already have,' Solas said; his voice sounded as if it had been coming from the farthest edge of the lake, and, when she looked, he had indeed turned away. She jumped out of the water, and hastily pulled on the first dry and clean garments she could find. It was only when she breathed at ease at being fully clothed that she realised what she had pulled on.

'These are _your_ clothes,' she muttered, looking down at herself in disgust. Not because the clothes were other than impeccably clean, or uncomfortable, in any way. It was linen, and actually fine linen, it was just that…they were absolutely too tight. In all the wrong places. 'You are a pervert.' Cassandra declared.

'Your clothes are still drying, Seeker,' he curtly replied. 'And since you discarded my thoughtfully packed parting gift to you in a manner that might have gotten both of us killed at Lazzaro's, I dare say that the lady doth protest too much.'

'I am not a lady…Sweet Maker!' Cassandra screamed, turning her face and feeling that her cheeks were on fire. 'What do you think you're doing?'

'Getting out of the water,' he calmly replied.

'Without warning me?'

'I presumed you would turn away in virginal modesty,' Solas chuckled.

'I am not a virgin!'

'Of course you are not,' he agreeably replied, fastening his breeches – she dared herself to look, just so the virgin discussion would end, and felt relief, as well as a slight hint of disconcerting disappointment when she found him half dressed. Not bad for an elf, Cassandra thought; he was slight, but he certainly did not look like a bookworm. His muscles were tight and definite, he had good shoulders, a good back, not a bad…

_Romance novels be damned._

She felt like slapping herself, but marched stiffly to the side of the fire and dropped by its side, gathering her knees to her chest and not looking up when he joined her, for fear her blush had not abated.

'Can you hunt?' Solas asked.

'Not without a bow,' she answered, apologetically. 'Besides, I…'

Wordlessly, she looked at the place where the unfortunate Templar's battle irons lay discarded.

'…I need to clean those.' Cassandra whispered.

'I thought you might leave that to me,' the elf replied.

It was kind, she thought, so kind of him to offer, but…

'I killed him then stripped his corpse as though I was a common looter,' she said. 'I left his mangled body where it lay. How old could he have been? Seventeen? Maker…'

'Mourning a man, even a very young man, who would have no qualms in killing us is hardly good employment of your time, Cassandra. But, if you wish to self-flagellate, I shan't stop you. I'll be an hour, at most,' Solas said, standing.

'No, don't…'

He frowned deeply, and so did she.

Neither of them knew where the words had come from.

'Don't go,' Cassandra repeated. 'I don't want to be alone, and you still have some mushrooms and some eggs, you left your pack at the bottom of the blasted cliff. Besides, I am not that hungry.'

Solas measured her though half lidded eyes for what felt like an eternity, but then simply fetched his pack and the battle irons, placing the latter by her side. The mere sight of them turned her stomach – it was as though that blue eye had still been clinging to the shield, staring at her. No, she would not be able to stomach food, and was prepared to tell the elf that much, again, when she saw him rummaging though his pack.

He did not take out any provisions, though. He simply took out a cleaning rag and two bowls. He went to fill one bowl with water, then handed it to her, along with the rag. The second bowl he filled with ashes from the fire, and placed by her side, before he sat back down.

'For the grease,' Solas off-handedly said.

Cassandra gratefully nodded; with a sigh, she set on her task.

'We did not win a mage burning competition,' she softly spoke.

'Oh?'

'Against the Templars,' Cassandra said, dipping the rag in water, then ash. 'The Order of the Seekers… We're not what you think we are.'

'I know nothing of your order,' Solas answered, 'thus I think nothing of them.'

'Well,' the young woman said, focusing on the breastplate, 'most people think that we are some sort of higher Templars. We're not. The Seeker's Order was created to watch over them, and prevent, well, needless mage burnings.'

'Interesting. So, the Chantry made up an order that watches its watchmen?'

'That's a simplistic view of it, but, yes,' she shrugged. 'We do share some of their duties, but we do not hunt apostate mages, as a rule. Our task is to ensure that the Templars do not spuriously wield their authority, within the Circles, or even with those mages who have escaped them. We are neither on the side of mages, nor that of Templars; we seek the truth. Death or tranquility are not always necessary, and in recent years, even honourable Circles have complained that the Templars are too liberal in imposing them. Could I get…'

He stood, to rinse out her water bowl and refill it.

'So how come _you_ are a Seeker?' Solas asked, his back still turned. 'You do have a temperament and a personal history that shows you'd strike down any apostate mage on sight.'

'My uncle, the man who raised me…_us_ would not allow it,' Cassandra answered. 'He was…Thank you,' she said, accepting the bowl of fresh water. 'He was a _mortalitasi_…'

'A necromancer and a dabbler in spirits,' Solas chuckled, in surprise.

Cassandra kept her head down, but nodded. 'Yes. If he was not Nevarran, he'd be the first upon a pyre in Ferelden and Orlais. His…his art has nothing to do with blood magic, but…It is misunderstood, down here. As he thinks many mages are misunderstood. After my brother's death, I wished for nothing more than to join the Templars, but he sent me to the Seekers instead. I grudged him for it, until I met Byron, and I started feeling at home. Had a true family, one might say. For the first time.'

'I do not think that you should wonder why the Templars betrayed you, then,' the elf said. 'None used to absolute power wants that power scrutinised. I am guessing your Divine was favouring your order, of late?'

She stubbornly rubbed the edge of the shield where the eye had clung. In her imagination, it still stared back.

'There were some minor political disputes,' Cassandra grumbled, her breath ragged with effort. 'Nothing that would warrant killing Divine Beatrix, and who knows how many thousands come for the gathering with…with bloody dragons!'

'Not with dragons,' the elf contradicted. 'With dragons controlled by blood mages. Essentially, with dragons controlled by mages… That corner is clean, Cassandra, leave it.'

'That boy's eye is still looking at me.'

'No, it's not, that boy's eye is being eaten by a raccoon, at this point. Cassandra. Look at me.'

She did, rebelliously flicking her hair back, and no longer caring to hide her tears. 'I don't want to,' she said, continuing to scrub the same spot. 'I don't want to think that anyone in the Chantry would so demean itself for…for politics, for… just for power, just for…'

'There is nothing in this world but power.'

'There is justice.'

'Power cares nothing for justice.'

'There is faith…'

'Whose faith? I have no faith in your Maker or his mortal instruments. I do not believe in the Chant, Circles, Templars or Seekers.'

'What do _you_ believe in, then? Surely, no man can walk this earth without believing in something…'

'I believe that if you keep polishing that shield with such ardour, you'll make yourself another sword,' the elf said. 'Move on to the breastplate. I'll make some food. I'll only be gone…'

'I just asked you to not leave me alone,' Cassandra whispered, as he decisively pried the shield from her hands.

'I won't,' Solas promised, not looking her in the eye; she could have sworn his ears were twitching. 'I'll only be gone a minute…'

He laughed. 'You just said no man can walk the earth without believing in something. I can now, with great certainty, tell you that no man can resist visiting bushes from time to time. Dare I ask you stay by the fire? Cassandra?'

'I will, I will,' she sighed. 'But don't…'

His barrier fell upon her, making her feel as if she had been a hapless insect in a jar, though it stretched for twenty yards around her.

* * *

'The first to draw a sword is dead. The first to draw a staff on me is dead.'

Cassandra made herself small behind a bush; in the beginning, she'd been unsure of why she'd followed him. Yet, the fact that he had cast his barrier on her, which had made her feel like he'd meant to protect her from some unseen danger, and then, he'd walked far further into the forest than was necessary for any man to take a leak in private. By the time she had seen the _others_…

They circled around Solas, Templars on horses and mages with dark capes. Crows cawed.

'Give me my stone, and I shall not interfere further.'

'How about we kill you and your…'

Solas looked the speakers' way, and the speaker disintegrated into dust.

'Give. Me. My. Stone.' The elf hyphened, even as all the others drew back.

He turned his face towards a man who wielded double daggers, and turned him to stone in mid jump. Into a million pieces he broke, and Cassandra thought she should have not crawled out of the barrier because this…

The Templar leader was a commander, she could tell by his proud attire, but she could not quite recognise him.

'Find the Seeker girl and kill her, this time, for good.' He ordered, spinning his horse in place. 'Make mince of the rabbit. I'll hear no more of this.'

Still, his mounted and armoured men hesitated, and no more crows took the shapes of men. Cassandra dug herself even further in the bush, then peered among the leaves.

Twenty five mounted Templars were circling closer and closer to the elf; the mages advanced too, one addled and staff aided step at a time. Solas, on the other hand, did nothing – he looked at the sky and closed his eyes.

'I am not bargaining for the young woman,' Solas said; his features were made of white wax. 'Her life will end, as all Shem lives end, on her hour and not an hour sooner. If you are wise, you will not want for me to end your lives now. You will live out your years, short as they are.'

'Look who thinks to command us, an apostate…'

A crow made of granite fell, head first, between Cassandra's legs, tearing her breeches and drawing blood. She covered her mouth with both hands.

Another crow fell, its outspread wings severing a horse's throat. Animal and rider fell and writhed together, until the horse crushed the rider and drowned him in its blood.

'Where is my stone?' Solas asked, again.

'If you think…'

'Answer, or die. I'll not trade you the girl.'

'We will not…'

'Die, then,' the elf shrugged; the sky fell upon the earth, and all that was flesh, on the ground or in the sky was ash.

* * *

'Cassandra!'

'No, no, no, no, why…_how_ did you do that?'

Solas looked at her as if she'd lost her mind.

'Cassandra, are you dreaming?'

'No, I am not dreaming, you just killed half a hundred people in…in…'

'In an hour?'

He looked aghast.

'It must have been some dream, Seeker.'

'You killed them, I saw you kill them…'

'You were asleep. And kicked me in the face, not to mention my masculine parts, when I tried to awaken you.'

'I see no bruises on your face!' she yelled.

'Would you like to check my masculine parts for bruises too? You were just deep asleep, Cassandra. Nothing happened. I went for some relief, and found you asleep. You then started kicking and screaming at thin air about a minute ago. After the day we've both had, I do not find the fact that you were having a nightmare implausible. Certainly more plausible than me, alone, killing fifty men in an hour.'

She furiously sat up, and shook his hands of her shoulders.

'What's this, then?' Cassandra furiously asked, pointing down at her legs. The granite crow had grazed her, she was sure of it…

'Er, your…crotch?' he replied, after looking down; she looked down in turn.

And there was nothing – her trousers were not torn, there was no graze…no blood.

'I saw you do it,' she insisted, running her hands over her thighs. 'You petrified a man and two crows, then something like a rain of fiery arrows…came down, and…'

Solas laughed and stood away.

'I am flattered, but I think that is truly outside any mage's power.'

'Your bloody barrier, the one that saved us from getting crushed should be outside any mage's power, yet you cast that too. And you made it solid! I've never seen anything like it.'

The elf shrugged. 'Perhaps your Circles' teachings are somewhat lacking, too. That is how I have always cast barrier…'

'I am not losing my mind!'

'I do not believe you are. I think you are just rattled, and that you should have taken my advice, and not cleaned that armour,' Solas said, in a kind tone. 'You probably saw yourself in that young man, and whatever enmity may simmer between your orders cannot go all the way to the bottom.'

She looked around herself, still seeking to find some evidence that he was lying, but… There was none. His staff lay discarded precisely where he'd left it. The fire was dwindling, and the moon above had barely moved. True, he'd not been gone for ten minutes, as he had promised, but it could not have been longer than an hour, and hour and a half at most. She felt her cheek, and the shallow, smooth grooves there, and cast aside a few blades of grass.

She _had_ been sleeping; the indentations on her face were proof enough of that…

'It was just so…vivid,' Cassandra whispered.

'It is alright,' he answered, sitting down and throwing an armful of dry twigs on the fire. 'And I did tarry overlong. We needed a bit more wood, I needed to replenish my herbs. I apologise. Here.' Solas said, extending his hand. 'My apology.'

She scoffed, looking at the little purple flower he'd picked for her.

'A thistle?' Cassandra muttered. 'Let me guess – it reminded you of me, because it's thorny.'

'Because it is resilient,' Solas replied, untouched by her irony.

* * *

Told you he would slowly grow to his old self...And, as usual, he has an agenda, while Cassie...Daw, she is still young and sweet.

Thank you for reading and commenting,

Cheers,

Abstract


	4. The Fox and the Hound

A fox is a wolf who sends flowers.

_-Old English Proverb._

* * *

'A safe house no more, I dare say,' Solas spoke; finding no words, Cassandra nodded.

Bodies littered the floor of the small cabin, Circle mages and Templars, torn limbs and charred corpses alike, and Cassandra felt her innards turning. Not necessarily at the carnage, but at the fact that all hope was now truly gone. Byron had intended to take the little girl to this place, he'd said as much with his dying words; judging by the number of Circle mages that had been waiting for him, Grand Enchanter Edmonde must have been somehow involved, yet, how…

Her head was spinning and her heart was breaking, just as, it seemed, the entire interconnected web of the Chantry's institutions was unravelling – had the Circle dispatched its mages to protect the girl Avexis, or had these mages escaped the Circle of Magi, and Edmonde had sent the templars in pursuit? Edmonde had been reluctant to grant custody of the child to the Seekers, but he'd not wished to give her to the Templars either.

'What in the Maker's name is going on here…' she murmured.

'It looks like you are all gleefully killing each other,' Solas coldly remarked, turning one of the mage corpses to attentively glance at his garb.

'Have you no heart?' the young woman whispered. She'd wished to sound reproachful; she'd merely sounded defeated.

'I do, but I do not see an use for it, here,' he replied. 'All the instruments of your Chantry are fighting against each other, I am no closer to finding my stone, you are no closer to finding your proof, and the gathering is two and a half days away. At this rate…'

They both heard steps, but heard them too late.

'Drop your sword, Templar, and turn around, slowly.'

'I am not…'

'I did not say – speak. I said…'

The man, whomever he was, was standing behind her, but she could not recognise his voice. By the spite with which he'd uttered the word Templar, Cassandra could well guess he was a mage – and a single mage…

Her glance flashed against Solas'.

'We can take him,' she quietly mouthed.

'Him, maybe,' the elf answered, out loud. 'I am not sure about the other twenty of his friends.'

She let her shoulders slump, and her sword clattered to the ground. Raising her arms, she turned to face whatever this new menace was, and sustained the unknown mage's gaze with utter fury.

'Are you not going to order _him_ to drop his staff?' Cassandra hissed.

'Why?' the mage asked. 'He seems a reasonable enough fellow…though, not one of ours, I think, comrade?'

'Indeed, no,' Solas responded.

'Blood mage, perchance?' the other inquired again, with flawless politeness.

'No,' the elf replied.

'Thus one of those fortunate enough that their parents sent them in the woods to die when they first manifested, and lived to a happy and free adulthood. Not that the lady Templar here would allow _that_ to continue for very much longer.'

The human mage had an angular face, clear blue eyes and a reddish goatee; he reminded Cassandra of a fox.

'I am not a…'

'I still did not say – speak,' the Circle mage smirked. 'But I do have one curiosity – after all you and your brethren have done here, isn't killing a lone apostate just slightly below even your ilk? And why in the Maker's name are you not wearing proper pants?'

'I'm gonna…' Cassandra exploded.

'She's not a Templar.' Solas said, stepping up to her side. 'I am not her prisoner.'

The man with the goatee exchanged a quick glance with the woman who stood right next to him. She shrugged. He shrugged in turn.

'What is she, then, your pants-less companion?'

'A Seeker by the name of Cassandra Penthaghast.'

The Circle mage nodded.

'The most wanted woman in Orlais,' he said. 'Good. Tie her up, if you please, gentlemen, ladies.'

'Solas,' Cassandra hissed between gritted teeth. 'You can't just let them take me like this!'

'We're not going anywhere,' the Circle mage said. 'And neither, Seeker, are you. For the moment, at least. But…where are my manners? My name is Alte, and I have been dispatched to find you, Seeker Penthaghast. Grand Enchanter Edmonde was hoping that we might have an interesting chat. I am, however…'

He irritatingly stopped, and took another glance at the carnage.

'I am, however, sure that he had no idea how interesting of a chat it was going to be.'

* * *

'At least untie her hands, so she can eat something,' Solas said. 'She's gone without a meal for the past day and a half.'

'She can last another half hour,' Alte said.

He looked stern, yet anything but threatening, from up close, and, in truth, Cassandra had to admit, it was either that mages could not tie knots, or that their bindings were not meant to hurt. The ropes around her wrists were so loose that she could have snaked her wrists out of them at any moment. For what was more, they had brought her sword out, and placed it where she might have reached it in two leaps.

These mages, she thought, were definitely not intent on harming her.

'You will excuse me, Seeker Penthaghast, but we are not very…Let's just say we are cautious. We've seen quite a few things since we left the Circle of Magi, and none were reassuring. Can you just start by telling me what happened to your travel companion?'

'He's dead,' Cassandra growled. 'Byron was slain…'

'Your _other_ travel companion.'

'He's sitting next to you, drinking wine!'

'A young dark-haired man? Hair down to his shoulders?' Solas asked; she turned her glance on him so briskly that she felt she might have torn a muscle in her neck. 'Medium of stature? Carrying a sealed white pouch?'

'You are acquainted with Regalyan D'Marcall?'

The elf shook his head. 'No such pleasure. I am acquainted with what remained of him, once a murder of crows descended upon him – a heartbeat before the Seekers and their charge made their entrance.'

Alte pressed his lips and the tips of his perfectly manicured fingers together so hard they turned stone white. 'I see,' he said, but his voice was barely there. 'Dead, then.'

'I am sorry,' Solas said – Cassandra could swear that this was far more sincere than the regret he'd expressed at Byron's death.

_Bastard._

'I do not suppose you have proof of this, master Solas?' Alte said, drawing a deep, shaky breath.

'The white, sealed satchel is in my pack. Have it fetched, if proof you require.'

'And the Seeker here has never laid eyes on Galyan?'

'A friend to you, then, if a short name you call him.' The elf remarked.

'A brave young man, deserving of a better fate.' The human mage responded. 'You will not mind if we take his belongings from you…'

'No, not at all, if it will convince you to allow Cassandra her freedom; neither she, nor late seeker Byron made contact with him. I've not unsealed his pouch. I've no idea what it contains.'

'You could have,' Alte said.

Solas sighed. 'Not really. Not that I was not curious, mind, but the Seeker jumped out from the bushes behind me and knocked me over the head. Then, there was a dagger to my throat, and…'

Alte grumbled and rolled his eyes. 'Of all the things you've said, that is the most believable. Templars, and all that descends or rises from them…'

The human mage stood and waved one of his companions over, then whispered in their ear, pointing at Solas' backpack; a blood-stained white pouch, its Circle of Magi seal intact. Alte broke it, and read the scroll it contained, holding his breath. He sighed and looked away, then rubbed the corner of his left eye as though some stray speck of dust had gotten into it.

But it hadn't, Cassandra thought. The man had simply wiped off a tear.

Without a further word, he'd pulled his dagger and severed her bonds; he extended the parchment to her, in continued silence, and sat back down.

'He…' she whispered, mid-way through the letter, 'was Byron's contact? The one he was supposed to surrender the girl to, that night?'

Alte nodded, and scratched his beard.

'But High Enchanter Edmonde disapproved of us having the child,' Cassandra said. 'Why would he…'

'That blood-mage coven already stole Avexis from us once,' Alte responded, slowly shaking his head. 'Knight-Commander Martel was very eager to blame the Circle of Magi in select company, but we…You see, young Penthaghast, our cells are locked an hour before midnight.'

'A lock is no impediment to a mage,' Cassandra said, pursing her lips.

'Yees, because we have a tendency of turning into smoke and seeping out underneath doors, or bats, so we can fly out barred windows?' the human mage retorted, his eyes shooting steel arrows. 'The locks on all of our doors are enchanted, Seeker. We do not even piss unless we ask permission from a Templar. There was only one lock broken, that night – the lock on Avexis' door - and that was broken from the outside in. Not that Knight-Commander Martel stood to investigate too long, before beginning to throw accusations around. He did not even ask us for the girl's phylactery.'

'Odd,' Cassandra said, easing herself back down. 'You'd think that is the first thing a Templar would do.'

'Hope for you yet, Seeker.' Alte sourly replied. 'Knight-Commander Martel did no such thing – he was only too pleased to strut about like a peacock, shout 'Rite of Annulment' a few times, loudly, then return to Val Royaux.'

'Rite of Annulment?' Solas asked, cocking his head to the side.

'Ah, my fortunate comrade,' Alte sighed. 'Free you are from all such shackles…A rite of annulment is something that Templars invoke when a Circle of Magi, as a whole, has become too dangerous, and all mages within it, from Grand Enchanter to untested apprentice are summarily rendered tranquil.'

'For _one_ escaped mage?' the elf breathed out, in disgust.

'A very special escaped mage, master Solas,' the human shrugged. 'And until Avexis was taken, only four people in the realm knew how very special the child was. The Grand Enchanter, Knight-Commander Marten, Lord Seeker Arden and, of course, the Divine.'

'Still, even if this wonder child is as special as you say…'

'We were also deemed…uncooperative,' Alte said. 'Especially when we dared to point out that we were all locked up, and the only people free to roam the Circle at night were the Templars themselves.'

'You dared accuse the Knight-Commander' himself of…of…'

Cassandra chocked on her words.

'We accused him of nothing, Seeker, blindness aside. With the Rite of Annulment always hanging over our heads, we spy on each other more effectively than any Templar might. We told him it could not have been one of us, it could only have been one of his, but that enraged him further. Grand Enchanter Edmonde saw no alternative than contacting High Seeker Aldern. Your order found the girl before we could get a reply, but neither you, nor the Templars needed her phylactery to do so.'

'We just got lucky,' Cassandra said, softly. 'We were hunting the dragon, not the blood mages.'

'And if you were _us_,' Alte bitterly chuckled, 'you'd believe _that_. Honestly, Seeker, it was a coin toss, until…Until High Seeker Aldern refused to surrender the child to either the Circle, or the Templars – which was all that we wanted, really – we suspected the Templars, and we suspected you, but we did not want Avexis on our hands, in the Circle either. Those poor souls back there swore that they would protect us all and hide the girl, until the gathering had passed.'

'The Seekers have many safe houses for mages unjustly pursued. Galyan was simply meant to lead Byron to this particular one.' Alte ended, in a low whisper. 'Which does not explain,' he added, looking at his hands, 'how you came to be precisely _here_. Cassandra Penthaghast.'

Alte's voice carried softly, but there was no mistaking the edge of threat – she was too tired to argue, however, too tired, too riddled with guilt and fear…

'Byron whispered _safe house _to me, as he lay dying,' she said, looking at the tips of her boots. 'I'm twenty, I'm barely an initiate… This is the only safe house I know of.'

_There,_ she thought, hiding her face in her hands. _Now all of you know I am an impostor. _

'Be kind to her. She told you the truth, and she has lost a close friend, too; she is grieving.' Solas said.

Cassandra tossed in her pretend sleep. Her clothes were still tight, but she was in a good bed-spread. She would rather have pressed on, but the mages did not share in her haste, and Solas had fallen back to his excruciating habit of asking questions she did not have an answer to, like – Go where? and Do what? And, Maker…he was annoying, but he was right. Not that she would ever tell him _that,_ especially not now, since he and Alte were discussing her as if she'd been a child, just a few feet away.

'I am sure she is,' Alte said. 'We found Byron's body. They probably wanted us to; we did not find Galyan, which was probably intentional as well. The Circle of Magi did not report him missing to the Templars, and so the accusations to be levered against us just got a smidgeon heavier. Well,' he mirthlessly laughed, 'if there were such a thing as the scales of justice, I imagine the evidence against us would have not only tipped them, but utterly broken them.'

'Then why would your Grand Enchanter risk…'

Solas needed do no more than look around himself.

Alte sighed. 'Before I answer that, I would have some answers out of you.'

'Ah,' the elf said. 'What is it? The shape of my ears or my being an apostate?'

'Neither. Nor do I suspect you of being a blood mage. If you had been one, you would not have saved the girl's life, not once, but twice. We too passed by Lazzaro's cabin, and we saw what remained of the climbing cage. No one could have survived that fall, not with any magic I know, and your fade imprint is unlike any other I have encountered.'

'We must have been hours behind you, yet the place still vibrated in the strangest of manners. A blood mage's connection to the fade weakens, in time. No blood mage could have channelled the storm that you channelled. In fact, no mage I know can channel the storm that you channelled.'

He fished a small ember from the fire with his pipe, and took a thoughtful drag of it.

'Circle mages,' Alte followed, 'normally scoff at such displays. When people like you do eventually end up, kicking and screaming, in one of our ah…places of learning and enlightenment…they do have a tendency to overcast. Some dismiss it as lack of knowledge or control, but you did not overcast, Master Solas. Neither at the foot of that cliff, nor in that meadow.'

'Meadow?' Solas innocently inquired.

Cassandra needed all of her self control not to jump up right there and then.

_I knew it. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard!_

'Let's not insult each other's intelligence,' Alte said, calmly. 'I have no idea how many you killed, as you left to little of them to count. I do not know how you did it, though if I thought you could share that spell, I would beg you to teach me… Your fade imprint was unmistakable, and yet again, you perfectly controlled the storm you unleashed.'

'I cannot guess what you wish to know,' the elf said, coolly.

'Who and _what_ you are would be a good starting point, but I suspect you would never tell me that,' Alte chuckled. 'So let us settle on more mundane things – like what an extremely powerful hedge mage is travelling with a Seeker. If she survives this, and despite your good efforts, it is a great _if_, she will have to turn you in, or set others on your trail.'

'She knows that it would be both pointless and reckless.'

'It never stops them, you know. They are ready to die in droves to make sure they put a leash on people far less dangerous than you are. So why help her?'

'Your enemies have taken something that belongs to me,' Solas simply answered. 'Something I am in rather urgent need of; before we were rudely interrupted by Templars, Lazzaro let slip that a mage named Frenic, the one that you and Cassandra are chasing, has it.'

'I do hope it is not the dragon controlling girl,' Alte jested.

'No, it is not. Your Chantry's politics are of no interest to me, nor are your religious gatherings, and no leader of your religion could make it less of an embellished lie than it is. The object I am speaking of is a stone that enables one to communicate at a distance. Something akin to Tevinter communication crystals, but…I cannot help but note you have grown pale, Alte.'

'How do you know they plan to attack the gathering?' the human asked, seeking to control the tremor in his voice.

'Lazzaro was a great speaker, if enough motivation was provided.'

The Circle mage exhaled, loudly, then tapped his pipe on a stone to clean it, only to nervously re-stuff it with tobacco.

'Well, my mysterious comrade,' he spoke, at long length, 'I fear that for all your lack of interest in Chantry politics, you've just unwittingly become embroiled in them up to the pointy tips of your ears.'

'Pardon?'

'You've asked me why the Circle of Magi would risk sending out so many mages without Templar approval. We, and the unfortunates we shall set on a funeral pyre tomorrow knew all too well that by coming out, the sentence we and all of ours risk is tranquility or death. Yet, when one already has a leash around one's throat, one will fight tooth and nail to keep that leash from becoming a noose that can be tightened at a Templar's whim. They already have power over us; some would drown us at birth, if they could…'

'The Seekers are not perfect, but they stand in the way of the Templar Order's whim. So does Divine Beatrix.' Alte said, his voice dropping to a whisper. 'With the Seekers dishonored enough to be disbanded, and with a Divine that regards the Templars not only as an enforcement mechanism, but as an army that transcends all armies, Tevinter's Legion aside…'

'Hm,' Solas said. 'An interesting tale, if true.'

'It is true,' Alte replied. 'I paled earlier because you have just, beyond all doubt, told me that it is. Your speaking stones,' he whispered. 'They would be pointless if there was not a pair of them. You know who has the one. I happen to know who has the other, and it is Knight-Commander Martel.'

'Whaaat?' Cassandra screamed, putting all pretense of sleep aside, and darting up from her bed-spread.

'Not so loudly, dear,' Alte said, frowning. 'People are sleeping, you know…And you were doing such a good job of eavesdropping, too…'

'You can't just…'

'He does not sound as if were lightly tossing rotten tomatoes here, Cassandra,' Solas intervened.

'And you!' she continued shouting, while she scrambled to fully stand straight, yet only succeeded in further entangling herself in the sheets. 'You lied to my face – that was no dream, I saw you…do…what you did!' Cassandra ended, stomping her feet and finally freeing herself of the bedspread. 'Serves me right for believing you! All you mages are liars, and…treacherous, good for nothing, murderous…erm…'

Tens of staves came into focus around her, their lights outshining the fires.

'…people,' she finished, taking an unwilling step back.

'At least it ended on a positive note,' Alte said, taking another drag of his pipe.

Solas merely shrugged. 'True, she could have called us vermin.'

'Rats, snakes…'

'Abominations…'

'All that, yes,' Cassandra snarled, though the company of mages was menacingly closing in. 'But what you are, above all, is self-confessed apostates! And you expect me to believe that Knight-Commander Martel is part of some otherworldly plot to slay the Divine? With the aid of blood mages?'

'M-no,' Alte said, with a deep sigh. 'We do however hope you will believe your own eyes, and that Master Solas will be able to recognise his own artefact upon the 'morrow. When Knight-Commander Martel will stop leaving the heavy lifting to his incompetent subordinates, and comes to arrest a good handful of degenerate apostates by himself.'

* * *

'Solas and Cassandra, sitting in a tree…' Alte said, grinning as he looked up.

'What are you, in your swaddling clothes, still?' she grunted back.

'Oh, no, just about to advise my comrade that he should not be sitting on the same branch as you, Seeker. You might be prone to severing it from right under your feet, and crash on Knight-Commander Martel's head, all in good faith, righteous anger and still without proper pants.'

'Perhaps it might aid the cause,' Solas joked, nonetheless slipping away from her side, and one branch lower in the proud oak's crown.

Their perch was well chosen, even though the process of choosing it had taken a good while and tried Cassandra's patience quite a few times. Much to her annoyance, the mages had shifted them around about ten times, and none had refrained from calling her 'a great big woman' or commenting that her armour shone so brightly that many a blind man could miraculously have spotted it, in the foliage and regained their sight in the process.

Still, they had ended up with the sun behind them, and with a very good view of the cabin, and the plains that surrounded it, well hidden enough that they could truly not be seen, but at such an angle that any echo of any word spoken in the valley would reach them with great clarity.

'You have good mounts tethered two miles east of here,' Alte said. 'Take them, and ride to Val Royaux in all due haste if my words are proven true. If they are not, or not to either of your satisfaction, you'll only need the one, I think.'

Behind him, the mages were dismantling the cabin, and bringing out _their_ dead, laying them side by side on beams that were already half-charred… The Templars, they left where they'd fallen.

They put their arms around each other, the mages… Many of them wept for their friends, but others used their trips to the rapidly vanishing cabin to relieve themselves on Templar corpses; Cassandra wished that the tears that were stinging at the corners of her eyes were invisible, or that she too could pretend some pollen or dust, or even a blasted leaf had gotten into her eyes.

'They hate them so much,' she whispered. 'These were innocent people, children, husbands, wives, mothers, following orders…'

'Not to them,' Solas replied. 'Not to me…Is this farewell, Master Alte?' he called, not letting Cassandra dwell on the words.

The human mage looked up and over his shoulder and grinned. 'I hope not. But we can never know. Seeker,' he said, before turning around.

'Light the pyres,' Alte commanded. 'The Templars are close.'

* * *

It was only when Cassandra noticed the sheer girth of the mounted and fully armoured Templars emerging from the deep black smoke that she first grasped how unfair the contest truly was and how indiscriminate the killing.

Five mages fell to the first charge – one split in half, one beheaded, two trampled, one stabbed from behind and lifted on the end of a halberd, only to be tossed on a pyre, still alive and screaming.

No mage had drawn a weapon, let alone brought it to focus. None.

The Knight-Commander's horse kneaded earth, ashes and blood together under its hooves. The Knight Commander, in his full regalia, looked irked.

'Bring me whomever is responsible for this desecration! I shall have him…'

'No need for them to bring _me_,' Alte said; Cassandra dug her short nails into the mighty oak's bark. 'I come of my own accord. If the Knight Commander had warned us he was going to impose on funeral rites, I might have attempted to pay more attention to his flock...'

'You and your apostates killed thirty of my men,' Martel barked, spinning his armoured stallion in place.

'No, _your_ men just killed five innocent mages, on a mission sanctioned by Grand Enchanter Edmonde,' Alte calmly responded. 'The others simply killed each other, to the last man. What their purpose here was is unknown to me…'

'Lie more, knave,' the Knight Commander growled, 'and I'll personally throw you on the pyre, alive.'

'That would be unpleasant,' the mage answered, with a bright smile. 'But you know I am not lying. After all you must have received news from the Circle of Magi. I do not see how else you'd have my phylactery, yes?'

Martel stared down at the mage, and for a moment, Cassandra feared he'd simply nudge his horse on and trample the other man.

'Or I could have simply followed the smoke, and the trail of the treasonous Seeker,' the Templar smirked. 'If you were sent out by Edmonde, he did not notify us, or obtain our prior agreement. Your…_excursion_ here, is therefore unauthorized, and I am well within my rights to…'

'…return us to the Circle, yes.'

'Kill you all, as escaped mages!'

Alte lowered his glance and snickered. 'Whether you like it or not, the Circle still can legally manage some of its internal affairs – the Grand Enchanter sent us to find those who had truly escaped, and I was there when the bird that notified _you_ of our expedition flew. We did not ask for your permission, indeed, but the Templars in the Circle of Magi did see us depart, and they did not pose much effort to stop us. I assumed that was implicit permission, no?'

'No, fool, it is not. You know all too well that your Circle is already under great suspicion…'

'Which we were eager to clear by bringing our escaped brethren in line.'

'This guy has balls of steel,' Cassandra whispered.

'I would have employed the word_ nerves,'_ Solas whispered back, 'but yes, he does.'

'You think you are very bright, don't you?' Martel laughed.

'I have sometimes had reason to trust my intelligence, yes.'

'Does it not strike you, then, that the Templars of the Circle of Magi allowed your departure precisely to demonstrate to one and all how deep the treachery within your lines lies? Aside this letter that you _assume_ I have received, there is no cover for you. I can – and will – punish you as I see fit.'

The Knight Commander dismounted, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

'Without this letter,' he followed, whipping out a parchment, and casually striding to the nearest pyre, 'I have every good reason to think that you are part of the group that massacred my men, part of the conclave that is threatening the Most Holy…Truly, my list of suspicions…'

'Is as impressive as it is fanciful, I will admit.' Alte nodded.

'It could be shortened if you would inform me of the whereabouts of one Regalyan D'Marcall,' the Knight Commander said, with a wolfish grin.

'Does his phylactery not inform on the subject?' Alte shot back, but Cassandra barely heard him.

The flurry of her thoughts all but rendered her blind and deaf. How could Martel know the name of Byron's contact? She thought, struggling for clarity. Not even Byron had known it. How would he know that one, specific name if _he_…

'His phylactery is one of the many things the Circle of Magi seems to have misplaced, in recent weeks.' Martel said, his grin turning crooked and fiendish. 'We know D'Marcall eloped. We know that he plotted with two Seekers to aid the blood mages; we know that he was not acting alone, for a party of my loyal men, who'd all but caught up with him, was turned to cinder…No single mage can take on thirty Templars and a Commander. There must have been tens of you.'

She unwillingly looked down at Solas, but he paid her no heed.

'So…' the Knight Commander followed, 'I think it would bode well for you and all of your associates here if you told me where he is. I hear the rites of tranquility only hurt for an instant. Maintain your silence, and you shall get to see precisely how long it takes for a human to burn alive. Why, we will even stand side by side and make comparisons, as your friends here feed the fire, one after the other.'

'Maker,' Cassandra breathed. 'He knows they had permission, and still…'

'The proof that we have _not_ fled the Circle in your hand_._ You have proof of _when_ we have left the Circle in your hand_.'_

Without a word, Martel spun on his heels, and tossed the parchment into the fire, then watched, distractedly, as it caught flame, and the wax of the Grand Enchanter's seal melted.

'The raven must have strayed,' he said.

He lazily drew his sword, but that was his last lazy gesture – with a great leap, he turned on Alte, and placed the tip of his weapon under the mage's chin. The man did not even flinch.

'I think that what you are about to commit here is commonly defined as murder,' Alte said.

'Speak, and you will live.'

The mage chuckled. 'No,' he said, softly, 'we will not. You are not a foolish man, Knight Commander Martel, and neither am I. You have supervised many, all too many rites of tranquility to have forgotten one tiny, yet crucially important detail. The tranquil…'

'…do not lie,' Solas whispered, just as Alte spoke the same words.

'You've no intention of letting any single one of us leave this place.' The human mage calmly stated. 'You'll not return us to the Circle and make us tranquil. You'll kill us where we stand.'

Martel laughed again, a deep cavernous sound.

'You are a bright freak of nature,' he said. 'Very well then, let me re-define the terms of your choice. Sword, or fire…Bring me one,' he ordered – as in a trance, his men obeyed, and Maker, they had chosen well, for the young woman they had picked was young, and shook from all her joints. She fought with all her tiny might, but had no chance against two armoured men. Tears were knotting under her chin, and she screamed, as the tip of her braid caught the flame.

'Maker, choose the sword, choose the sword,' Cassandra prayed under her breath.

The men lifted her by her arms.

'Choose the sword,' Martel said.

'Damnation and pox, Solas, help them!' the Seeker hissed. 'I know you can, I've seen you…'

'Wait,' he whispered.

'If I were a less than bright freak of nature I would choose the sword,' Alte said. 'But, unfortunately for you, I am truly bright – thank you for the compliment. Put the girl down, lads, lest the next Chantry blessed pyre be yours… Firstly, because the fact that your organization truly trains you away from thinking…why is your Commander interested in Regalyan D'Martell, but not in where the girl Avexis is?'

'He should not care about him, he should care about her, she is the threat to the Most Holy, no? Move your sword, I can shave myself fine, and you have just disbalanced my trim,' Alte said, pushing Martel's blade away from his throat with a casual, light hand.

'Put her to the flame, Templars!' Martel ordered – his man threw her, but it was as if the fire had just spit her back. She bounced, as if she'd hit some solid surface; it shimmered briefly, but the girl fell to the ground unharmed.

'Well done, Solas,' Cassandra breathed; the elf looked up and nodded.

'And secondly, as Knight Commander Martel is right in pointing, ravens do stray. His might have,' Alte said, 'but the three that we dispatched to Divine Beatrix did not.'

'You demon worshipping worm!' Martel shouted.

'In short words, the Divine knows who we are, what we are doing here, and if you do anything else than escort us back to the Circle of Magi, Knight Commander, you will have some very uncomfortable questions to answer. So, here is my advice to you - do your duty, tell your men to mount and escort us, and we shall all live to settle this next week. After the gathering.'

Cassandra had seen a few rage demons in her life, but none quite as close to vomiting lava as Knight Commander Martel was now. Nor, she discovered, any as able to swallow their vomit back as he was.

'Do as the mage says,' he grunted.

'But, Ser…'

'Do as_ I _say!' Martel bellowed. 'Maker's breath! Go ahead, I will catch up…'

His men obeyed. They mounted, as did the mages, and the small, weary procession started due west. Only one of the Templars stayed behind; he waited until all the others were no more than specks on the horizon before he spoke.

'Your orders, Ser.'

Martel gazed thoughtfully into the distance.

'We cannot touch them until the gathering,' he said. 'But, go with them, and make sure nothing like this occurs again. We do not want the gathering interrupted by some mangy spell tossers… I hold you personally accountable for this,' Martel coldly warned. 'No one is to leave the Circle. Not even a rat.'

'But the Grand Enchanter…'

'He's probably already in Val Royaux, dripping who knows what poison in whose ears. This lot seemed very sure of themselves…' the Knight Commander sighed. 'I must make for the city in all haste.'

'Very well,' the other nodded. 'And the Seeker girl? She was at Lazzaro's, we are sure of it, and she is not dead.'

'It is irrelevant. The Circles are hunting her. We are hunting her. Even the Seekers who want to save their skins are hunting her, and there's not a soul in Orlais who would believe her. Go now,' he said; his man rode off at some speed.

In his turn, Martel seemed to be in no haste. He took a small pouch from his belt, and kneeled amid the still burning pyres. He extracted a small purplish crystal, and set it on the grass before him – it emitted a soft light, which wavered with the rise and fall of the flames around it.

'Is that…' Cassandra breathed.

Solas nodded.

'Then what are we waiting for?' she hissed. 'He's alone…'

'No sign of the girl, and the mages know nothing of D'Marcall,' Martel said, speaking into thin air. 'All is as planned.'

The stone's light suddenly became blinding.

'All would be as planned if the Seeker were dead,' a familiar voice croaked from the beyond; it took all of Solas' strength to keep Cassandra from pouncing down. The branches of the tree still swayed dangerously, and Martel looked over his shoulder, frowning.

She froze in place, not even drawing breath. Frenic, she thought, could have been miles away, or he could have been in the nearest bunch of trees, his coven not far behind…It felt like a century had passed before the Knight Commander finally turned back to his stone.

'And whose fault is that?' Martel snarled. 'You gave me assurances that whatever creature lurked in that cave would slay her…'

'And you gave me assurances that once it was obvious she miraculously escaped, she would not get far. Lo and behold…It does not matter. What can she do, alone?'

'Slay a high dragon?' the Knight Commander muttered. 'She's done it before.'

'We have six dragons,' Frenic drily replied. 'Think she can slay six?'

Martel scoffed. 'Good news, at last. Thus, the plan progresses as it should.'

'Not by your glorious intervention, but yes. All I need from you is to make sure the Divine will climb to the top of the White Spire. Can I trust you with at least that?' the blood mage said, his voice dripping with irony. 'I am less than impressed with your competence, so perhaps…'

'Shut your filthy mouth, or I swear I'll give you one more part of your face to sew on,' the Templar growled.

'I'm as certain that you would like to as I am that you could not. Top of the tower, Martel. At high noon.'

The light died, in sign that the mage had said all he thought necessary to say – and he certainly did not feel the need to say farewell. The Knight Commander stood, and kicked the stone with such fury that for a second, Cassandra feared it would shatter or fly into one of the pyres.

It merely flew away twenty feet, and she tensed her legs to jump down.

'Stay out of sight,' Solas ordered; he slipped from the branch before she could take another breath.

* * *

Don't you wish that Cassie would just listen, sometimes? Ugh. You can bet she won't this time...or anytime soon. One small note on Solas' powers, for the previous chapter as well as for the upcoming one: since All New, Faded for Her, when he basically pulverises those hapless mages by just looking their way, I've suspected Inquisition's Solas is far more powerful than he lets on. Might have been an useful skill to employ when we were kiting bears in the Hinterlands, vhenan...

As always, thank you for reading and commenting,

Cheers,

Abstract


	5. Seek and You Shall Find

Let's call this a draw.

_-The Black Knight_, _King Arthur and the Knights of the Holy Grail, Monty Python_

* * *

Knight Commander Martel rotated his head, causing his neck to crack lightly.

'What is this, now?' he asked.

Cassandra still felt paralysed – not by fear, but by fascination. The elf could move so fast it defied belief, but he was not fast enough to reach the stone. He therefore stood, facing the highest Templar in the land with naught but his oaken staff in his hand. Between them, ten feet from them both, the artefact glowed dully in the grass.

'That object is mine,' Solas said, calmly and clearly. 'You've sullied it enough.'

'Yours, is it, rabbit?'

'Mine. Do not touch it again.'

'And how do you plan to stop me, apostate? With a wooden stick?'

The elf did not respond this time; he simply turned his staff into a circle, summoning his solid barrier. About himself, about the stone…Martel charged forth, gleaming sword in hand, and deftly dodged a fire spell; when the smoke cleared, the tip of his weapon was clearly through the shield, and he was pressing it forward, inch by inch.

'You think you're good, don't you,' the Templar laughed. 'But there's no trick I have not seen that…'

A gigantic stone fist hit him from the side, throwing him off, but his sword still sliced though the barrier as if it had been cutting fruit. Not that it mattered. Solas took a step forth, and was within reach of the stone now. He did not bend to pick it up, though. He simply looked to the sky and squinted.

Cassandra woke up.

_He'll call his fire arrows again,_ she thought, her limbs moving without her. _He'll turn him into ash, pick up his stone and vanish, leaving me…_

With nothing.

Her traitor, dead. Her proof, gone. The gathering and the Divine still in the path of a massacre that he cared nothing about, and she could not…could not…

Solas was fast on his feet but Cassandra was faster, or so she hoped; crucially, he was focusing all his defences on Martel, and his shield only covered his front. She hit him over the back of the head with the hilt of her sword before she could even think of the fact that the last man that had tried to jump the elf from behind had been petrified with a mere glance. Whether by lack of killing intent, or simply because it had all happened so quickly, her blow had not been as strong as she might have liked. The elf's spell faltered, and he staggered slightly, beginning to turn towards her.

'Why?' he asked, not even sounding angry.

'I can't let you do this,' she whispered. 'I'm sorry Solas, but I…'

Martel laughed, throwing his head back – he slowly began rising to his feet, and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with his gauntlet.

'Seeker Penthaghast,' he gurgled, causing even more blood to drip from his mouth. 'What a positively…lovely surprise!'

With panther like speed, she darted forth, picking up the stone as she drew her sword.

'Remembered your duties, all of a sudden, little girl?'

'I have never forgotten them,' Cassandra spat, tucking the stone in her shirt, and rotating her wrist, to bring her sword to the ready. 'Knight Commander Martel, you are under arrest for high treason. You shall surrender now, or…'

'Or…what?' the Templar asked, standing fully upright.

He spat to the side.

'I will take you to Val Royaux, to confess to your crimes! May the Maker have mercy on your soul!'

'Of course,' Martel sighed. 'Will that be before or after your apostate friend burns you to a crisp?'

'Eh,' Solas sighed. 'Humans.'

She looked over her shoulder and frowned – yes, there was a distinct possibility that Solas would do just that, yet the elf simply dropped on the grass and crossed his legs, his staff by his side.

'How about the apostate just waits to see who will win this thrilling encounter, burns the winner to a crisp, recovers his stone, and goes on his merry way? Please.' He hissed. 'Entertain me. I have not visited the call of Templar and Seeker duty circus in a while.'

Cassandra swallowed dry, and the momentary lapse of attention cost her dearly; by the time she'd even processed the elf's words, Martel's sword had connected with her shield. It dented from the force of the blow, and, for however confident she was in herself, she saw the fact that she could not keep up with this man even if she had been on her best of days with blinding clarity. He was two feet taller than she was, he had the momentum of his sword and his armour, while she was hobbled by a breastplate that did not fit her, a shield that felt as though the blacksmith had been saving on the iron…

She staggered back, and caught another blow aimed at her neck with the shield before discarding it.

Too little too late, or perhaps too, soon. The Knight Commander punched her in the stomach and tried to sweep her feet from under her. She jumped back just in time

'No, you do not, you…'

But then, in charging she made the same mistake she always did: she swung her sword arm too wide, letting her opponent see where her strike would come from. It all unfolded just like in training – the man caught her wrist in his own sword's hilt guard, twisting it until she yelped and let her own sword go, as she fell back.

'Andraste,' Cassandra prayed, 'guide me. Maker, take me to your side…'

Martel's sword descended, implacably. Her own sword was flying away; Cassandra closed her eyes, but though she heard the hungry hiss of the blade, the killing blow did not connect. Instead, out of nowhere, the shield she'd discarded threw the weapon off course, then, as if possessed by a will of its own it flew at the side of the Templar's face, forcing him to jump back and parry.

The young woman looked over her shoulder in awe, but she had little time to register anything but the fact that Solas wasn't even standing.

Another stone fist connected with the Templar's side, causing him to stagger, and the bindings on his own shield miraculously came undone. It clattered to Martel's feet, but only for a second, for in the very next heartbeat it took flight as well, sweeping the large armoured man off his legs, and causing him to fall flat on his back. The confusion made Martel loosen his grip on his weapon as well; the mistake did not go unpunished, for the weapon too gathered a mind of its own, spun into thin air, and aimed itself at the Templar's face.

Had it not been for Cassandra's inhuman effort in catching Martel's shield and blindly spinning it around, to bat the sword to the side, the blade would have gone through te Templar's forehead. She stood over her enemy, knowing that if the mage would turn his weapon on her, she'd be done for – Martel's shield was too heavy, the sword too quick…

'I shall ask again,' Solas said, arching an eyebrow. 'Why?'

And now, the young woman thought, was truly a time to think and speak fast.

'If you kill him, we'll never know who he was working with,' she panted. 'He must be working with a cleric – they want a new Divine, and he cannot be that Divine…Stay fucking put, you wretch!' she cried, kicking Martel in the chest.

The Templar simply laughed.

'How stupid are you, girl?' he managed. 'He doesn't care. He's only helped you against me because you will be the easier opponent…'

'I don't care,' she passionately breathed. 'You must be held accountable, by the Chantry's justice!'

'And you think _you_ are going to do that?' Martel asked. 'Let's say your elf does not turn you inside out, and you do capture me, here…What do you think that will happen, if you ride to Val Royaux, with me bound, and an apostate by your side? The entire Chantry wants your head, you bitch…'

'The stone…'

'…was enchanted by the elf.' The Templar continued to laugh. 'A knife ear apostate who killed thirty Templars. Yes, Seeker, I can see how that would go your way…'

She kicked him in the chest again, with redoubled fury, and the man coiled in pain, but did not stop laughing.

'You're hilarious,' he chocked out. 'Truly, you are…'

'The Divine will hear me! But a week past, she gave me a commendation…'

'The Divine is in conclave with all the clerics in the land. No, she will not hear you. You will die, Cassandra Penthaghast, but at least, unlike Byron's death, yours will serve some purpose. You'll be the final nail in the Seekers' coffin…'

'…and, after hearing that… You still don't want to step aside?' Solas inquired, looking her in the eyes.

'If you kill him, you kill me, and all I've ever believed in or fought for,' Cassandra softly responded.

'I think he made some very valid points,' the elf said.

'I don't care,' she replied, knowing that she sounded like a rueful child. 'There are still honest men in the world. There have to be – else what is the point of it all?'

The elf pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Shem'len,' he sighed.

Without warning, the Templar's massive sword spun in the air as if it had been a twig, and descended as swiftly as lightning, burying itself into Martel's shoulder down to the hilt, and pinning him to the ground.

'Let's go,' Solas said, propping himself up on his staff; Cassandra thanked the Maker in her thoughts, dropped the Templar's shield on his head, and followed Solas out of the clearing.

* * *

'What in the Maker's name…'

She stood in awe.

Yes, Alte had promised them mounts, but…

'This is Alte showing he has a healthy sense of humour.' Solas replied, soothingly patting one of the…_stags? _on the neck. The creature nuzzled on his arm, and, looking pleased, the elf produced a lump of sugar from his pocket and fed it to it.

'I cannot ride a stag!' the Seeker exclaimed.

'It's a hart, and they are quite tame. Unless you make abrupt gestures.' He distractedly ended, when Cassandra's mount took a swipe at her with its horns. 'What is our next step in your quest for an early demise?' Solas asked, jumping on his stag – whatever he'd called it, it was a bloody stag.

She hesitated.

'You mount it as you mount any horse.' The elf sighed. 'Or you can just pace around it, and wait for it to get sufficiently angry so that it kills you, before you even reach the glorious martyrdom so valued by your religion.'

'Why…'

'What why?' the man grunted.

'Why are you not just taking your stone and running off? I mean, you've made it clear it's not your fight.'

'Are you inviting me to put my arm down your shirt and fish for the thing? Or did it get stuck between the moons…'

'Ugh!'

'Just mount, all will calm once you prove a smooth rider…'

'Ugh!'

'I meant the hart, Cassandra, the hart. It's all in your head,' Solas laughed, making it clear it was definitely not in her head. 'Grab it by the shaft of its horn, it won't mind, in fact it will help you up, and down…'

'Maker!'

She did grab the stag by the horns, but at least here, his innuendo was not just innuendo. The creature basically threw her on its back, and trumpeted like a rooster.

'That's nice,' Cassandra said, in surprise. 'It is exactly like a horse. With horns.'

Solas laughed. It was odd to discover she liked the sound.

'So, where to?' he asked, patting his mount on the head. 'It will take Martel some time to unpin himself, but he will unpin himself.'

'I know,' Cassandra whispered. 'Look, Solas…'

'I'm looking. I've been looking since we first met, and I never stopped looking. For a reason why you are doing what you are doing, just in case you thought that was more innuendo.'

'Martel did make some good points,' she said. 'But my only chance is High Seeker Aldern. If he too is corrupt, I will die. And you will never get your stone back.'

The elf shook his head in a strange manner, that could either be construed as a 'yes' or a 'no'.

'I'll manage, I think,' he said.

'Yes, but you could take it now and just… Why are you helping me, Solas?'

'Well, I have one stone. I could walk away with just that,' he replied. 'But now, I want the other one, too.'

'Oh, so you that have two stones on you?' Cassandra quipped, before she could stop herself.

'Very nice, Seeker, you're catching up! But, slowly.'

There was a sadness in his eyes, deep and yet beautiful, like the moon in the ruins reflected upon the pool of the Vate'eraal, in his long lost ruined hall.

'Your people have robbed mine of so much,' Solas said. 'I could indeed be content with the stone you have, while the other remains in Frenic's possession, but I shan't. These artefacts belong to my people, and I will not have any of them lingering in human hands for an hour more than I must. My best chance of retrieving both is following you, and attending this…gathering. Because Frenic will be there, and you are an honourable woman. You will give me the stone once you have no further need of it.'

'I swear upon my honour that I shall,' Cassandra replied.

'I trust you,' he answered, with a nod. 'Well,' Solas followed, turning his attention to his mount and gently scratching it between the horns, 'harts are far faster than horses, so we should reach Val Royaux with plenty of daylight to spare. Which, in itself…'

'…is not a good thing,' she agreed, still fidgeting and expecting that the stag would throw her off at any moment. 'I can't just ride into Val Royaux, and certainly not on this creature.'

'I presume you would not be able to ride into Val Royaux on any creature,' he noted.

'True, but…We could walk in,' Cassandra replied, nudging her mount forth, to a light trot; he followed. 'There are tens of thousands of pilgrims headed into the city. No one could pick me up in a crowd like that.'

'I, on the other hand…'

'Hm? What is with you?'

He frowned and pointed at his ears with both hands.

'Plenty of elves in Val Royaux,' Cassandra assured him. 'Many of your people have taken to the worship of the Maiden of the Alamarr, our Maker's Bride, and even if they did not, no house of means is without elven servants…'

'I do not know which of the two disgusts me more,' Solas muttered.

'Your staff will be a problem, though,' she said.

He stopped short.

'You are not suggesting that I go in there unarmed, are you?'

'I will need to leave the breastplate aside too.' Cassandra regretfully shrugged. 'Listen…'

'I am, as far as the urge of actually plunging my hand down your shirt and disappearing into the distance allows,' Solas growled.

'Once we are in the city proper,' she said, turning her mount around so she could face him, 'I know of a way inside the Chantry, that, uh, not many people know of. We initiates use it as a way out, mostly, when we want to er…drink. Yes, drink. Definitely nothing else.'

He chuckled. 'So, not a virgin, after all?'

'I bleeding told you I'm not, Maker's breath!'

'Alright, alright,' the elf said, continuing to chuckle. 'I am still listening.'

'That path is an unused sewer…'

'Blessed beyond…'

'I did say unused, yes? It starts behind a cabinet in High Seeker Aldern's study, but it passes by the armory as well as the confiscated weapons storage.'

'And both of those are unguarded and unlocked.'

Cassandra groaned and rolled her eyes. 'Guard duty on those is the most boring thing in the Universe; it's the most secluded portion of the Chantry, and one cannot normally reach it unless one passed Maker knows how many patrols, or directly though the High Seeker's study. If they are guarded, they'll be guarded by idiots who've been punished for something, but trust me, those are precisely the people who will wait for the stroke of midnight to go…drinking.'

'So, you see,' she triumphantly ended, 'I am not proposing we barge in there unarmed. We'll have plenty of time to get equipment.'

He looked at her through narrowed eyes.

'That actually sounded like a plan.' Solas neutrally said. 'I am utterly shocked.'

* * *

'And, just like that, my shock and mild enjoyment of your company turns into exasperation, and my urge of fondling your chest returns with a vengeance.'

It had all gone so well thus far, so very well…They had not attracted a single glance, amid the thousands of other travelers. They'd had a decent, warm supper, and awaited dusk in relative comfort. Solas had not even made as many snide remarks as she had expected, and he seemed to be the man with the greatest capacity for consuming expensive and extravagant cakes Cassandra had ever met. They'd left before the streets had not fully cleared yet, but waited in the tunnel – which, as she had promised, was long, unused and dry. It did not even smell damp, and was completely unguarded. It looked as though all security had been diverted to the Divine and the High Clerics. Cassandra had had no issues with the armour room lock – a few well placed kicks, and she'd regained a fitting set of battle irons.

Their luck – and Solas' cake fuelled tolerable mood - had vanished when they'd discovered that the confiscated weapons room had an enchanted door, which would not budge, and the fact that there were no guards in sight turned out to be more blessing than curse, as there was no one to knock over the head and take the keys from.

Cassandra fidgeted, looking at her feet. 'I am so sorry… I could not know that the weapon room door would be enchanted. I don't have a sword either.'

'And that is…distinctly…reassuring.' Solas growled. 'I cannot follow you further, Cassandra, and I advise that you do not go forth either.'

'What of your stones?' she whispered. 'We've come so far – High Seeker Aldern's study is just beyond that wall. Maybe the key to the confiscated weapons room in there, too.'

The man shook his head. 'I will pray that you succeed with your High Seeker, but the fact that aiding you was the shortest way of obtaining them does not mean that it is the only way of obtaining them. I apologise, Cassandra, but, while I pray you will succeed with High Seeker Aldern, I am not taking that chance that you will not. Should the man prove as trustworthy as you say, then I might perhaps see you in the square...'

She kicked the wall, and it splintered, then crashed inwards with a deafening bang.

'There,' Cassandra said, proudly putting her hands on her hips, as the elf covered his face with both hands. 'Your doubts and tribulations, all solved.'

The elf groaned.

'Can you not spend a single, blessed day without kicking something in?'

'That's what I keep telling her too,' High Seeker Aldern sighed. 'Alas, I was so fond of that cabinet…'

Cassandra darted forth into the light while Solas swiftly drew back into the darkness, and glued his back to the wall – he disappeared from her mind, at that moment though, for all she could see the tiredness and kindness in Aldern's eyes.

She set knee to ground.

'High Seeker,' Cassandra whispered.

'Cassandra,' he returned, placing his hand on top of her head. 'Report. I have been sitting here awake since the night you and Byron disappeared…'

The young woman looked up, her eyes full of tears. 'I thought you were hunting me…'

'No, child…We were trying to find you before the Templars did. We have raised you to seek the truth. I knew you would return once you had found it…I only prayed that you'd not be too late.'

'I too pray that I am not, High Seeker, I pray that you'll believe me, because time is scarce; our enemies have Avexis, and they have tentacles slithering so deeply within the Chantry that I would not believe my own ears if I heard such a tale…'

Aldern chuckled lightly.

'Slow down, and have a seat, Cassandra. Draw a breath. Perhaps even introduce me to your shy friend? The one that is still hiding in the tunnel, and agrees with me upon your lack of temperance?'

'He…er…is not very fond of Templars or Seekers.' She replied, casting an uncertain glance towards the destroyed cabinet.

'He was fond enough of you to escort you here,' the High Seeker said. 'And not tip-toe away in a haste, though he knows that I have plainly heard him, probably because he would be leaving you alone with a person who might call for your arrest…'

'I'm rather fond of something inside her shirt, and I don't want any of your kind getting your hands on it,' Solas snarled.

He was standing half in, half out of the room, half-light, half-shadow, with his arms crossed over his chest, the look on his features one of such arrogance that Cassandra felt the instant urge of slapping it off. Aldern himself needed no more than a second to recognise the kind of man he was looking at, too, but though he shot a sideways glance at Cassandra, he nodded in greeting and invited the elf in.

'That is not something a gentleman should ever say, master...'

'My name is irrelevant. Cassandra's story is, and I was not referring…'

'Solas was not referring to my breasts,' the woman said, her eyes shooting lightning; Solas gritted his teeth.

'Master Solas, then,' Aldern wryly smiled. 'Please, have a seat as well – I've no reason to think you a mage, let alone an apostate. I've seen you cast no spell, you carry no staff. You are simply the man who has helped my best student reach me, and the hour is growing late. If we hope for your tale to reach the Divine before morning…'

The old man sat, taking his great sword from his belt, placing it between his knees, and resting his entwined fingers atop it.

She told him the story then, from the night that she had caught Byron eloping with Avexis in his arms, to his gruesome death, her first encounter with Solas…Somehow guessing Solas would appreciate it – as well as for the sake of her vanity – she'd left out the strange cave and its ancient guardian. She'd explained about the speaking stones, about Lazzaro's hut, mentioning that they had taken a shortcut to it, but not being overly specific in how they had found it. The encounter with the Templars there had held more of an interest to the High Seeker, anyway, and, with each word Cassandra spoke, Aldern slowly leaned in, while Solas gradually relaxed.

She told Aldern of Frenic, of Alte, of the second Templar encounter, yet Martel's name remained stuck in her throat for some reason, and when it came to uttering it, her jaws felt as if someone had sewn them shut, as folk said that the Qunari did to their mages.

Cassandra realised that she had fallen silent only when Aldern had gently touched her on the shoulder.

'Yes?'

'The name, child. The name of the Templar who was speaking with Frenic.' Aldern kindly prompted.

'It was no regular Templar, it was…'

'Perhaps we should demonstrate this part, Cassandra,' Solas put in.

'Demonstrate?' Aldern asked, cocking his head.

'The name your initiate is hesitating to speak is a very heavy one in your religious hierarchy.' The elf said, drily. 'She hesitates to speak it because she required very heavy evidence to believe it, herself, and she did not rest until she obtained it.'

_Well,_ Cassandra thought,_ that was almost…gallant. _

'Perhaps, if I may suggest, we should let the evidence speak for itself? Literally.'

Aldern allowed himself a tired smile. 'I have yet to hear of evidence that can do that.'

'This can,' the elf shrugged, leaning back in his chair, and crossing his legs. 'We might need to turn your backs as Cassandra extracts it from her…'

_Aaand back to bastard you go, Solas._

'I actually already removed it before I put my breastplate on,' she snarled, dropping the cloth-wrapped speaking stone on the table.

The High Seeker beheld it attentively, then questioningly looked up at the elf. 'I understand the properties of this artefact, as they have been explained to me, and though they do reek of Tevinter magic, I am inclined to believe you that it is elven. You must, however, understand, that if this stone suddenly speaks a name, it will be absolutely irrelevant in the eyes of any Chantry law. It could even be leveraged against us, once more, if it speaks the name of some Templar Commander...'

'High Seeker Aldern, I believe you've understood little, if anything, of the properties of the artefact.' Solas said, leaning forth and impatiently cracking his fingers.

'Be mindful of your tone!' Cassandra hissed. 'You are addressing…'

'A man of no consequence in his world, Cassandra. Let him speak.' Aldern said.

'The speaking stones are inanimate devices. _They_ do not speak on their own, they only relay speech, and the image of the speaker. The problem is that the small experiment we will have to conduct can't truly be repeated; I doubt that once we contact Frenic, and have him call the name of your traitor out loud there can be a repeat performance.'

The High Seeker shook his head. 'The Divine still trusts me, and Edmonde has his suspicions as well. If I give her a name, she will believe it. But… Does it not need a mage to activate?'

'For humans, maybe,' Solas said, standing. 'Fortunately for you, you only need an elf.'

Cassandra looked down at her hands.

'Let's see it, then,' Aldern said.

The elf shrugged, and gently removed the stone from its cloth wrapping. It glowed, dully, and all three leaned over it to glance into its depth.

'What do we do now?' Cassandra whispered.

Solas simply placed his open hand above the stone.

'Knock-knock, Frenic,' he simply said; Aldern almost cracked a smile.

The luminescence remained dull for a few long seconds, but then began to grow along the stone's edges; in the gem's middle, mists swirled, forming the face of one almost too hideous to behold. It might have been a man's face once, but it looked as if it had been blown apart and sewn back together by an unskilled puppet maker – metal plates were fused to his cranium, jaws and cheeks, kept in place by rough leather stitches.

'What in damnation do you want now, Knight-Commander Martel?' Frenic shouted, from the stone. 'You have one job, and that is to get the Divine on top of the White Spire. My dragons will do…Who in the Abyss are you?'

'The people who will have your head tomorrow,' Solas agreeably said; Cassandra extended her arm to support Aldern, who'd gone white with shock.

'Oh,' Frenic cackled. 'If it isn't the intrepid dragon slayer herself! You managed to relieve Martel of his stone? Oh well. I'd shed a tear for him, but he was not overly dear to me...'

His beady eye ran from one face to the other; it was impossible to know whether he had recognised Aldern or not, but Solas…Solas held his attention like a magnet.

'You think you can find me, do you…elf?'

'I already have,' Solas said.

'I suppose. The question that I am leaving you with is whether you think it will make one iota of difference.'

With that, the mists swirled closed, and Frenic's terrible face vanished.

High Seeker Aldern closed his eyes. 'Martel.' He whispered. 'It goes as high as Martel…The Knight Commander and I have had our differences, but I would never have thought that he would go so far as to subvert the Chantry…'

'You…you believe us, then?'

'Cassandra,' Aldern whispered, 'you risked your life and honour in pursuit of the truth. How could I doubt? You have the heart of a true Seeker, and I…I must show the stone to the Divine at once.'

He spun to leave, but Solas decisively barred his path.

'You've had all you've needed out of that artefact,' he said, in an odd, low growl. 'I demand that it is returned to me. It belongs to the Elvhen, not to your Chantry.'

'I am afraid…'

'High Seeker,' Cassandra pleaded, 'I swore that once the evidence is produced, it will remain in his possession. Solas has done nothing but help, and I…'

'You swore?' Aldern asked, measuring the elf from head to toe with an unreadable glance.

'Upon my honour, sire,' she resolutely nodded.

'Very well,' the old man sighed. 'I question the wisdom of this, but, on the other hand, he is the only one who can track Frenic through it. The gathering must be halted first. Cleansing the land of Frenic and his ilk will follow – it can be returned to him for that purpose, and if he disappears with it afterwards, I am sure none will pay too much attention.'

With heavy steps, Aldern walked around the elf, and headed into the torchlit corridor.

'Rest now,' he said. 'You've shouldered enough – from here on, this burden is mine.'

Casandra exhaled, and sat; it took her a few seconds to notice that Solas was eyeing her with utter, superior disappointment.

'What now?' she muttered. 'I told you that we Seekers are not as you think…'

'Yes, yes,' the elf spat. 'But have _we_ not forgotten something?'

'Like – what?' Cassandra shrieked, darting to her feet.

'Like – the key to the weapons room,' he answered, his lips pressed thin.

'Oh, Maker's Breath, Solas, will you just give it a rest?' the woman exclaimed, in exasperation. 'The High Seeker did not pry on whether you are a mage or not, and I think him maintaining plausible deniability of what you are is the safest way to handle the situation.'

'For whom?' the elf growled.

'For you,' she sighed. 'Besides, I doubt you even need a staff.'

'That is a preposterous…'

'I've seen you in the meadow,' Cassandra said, smirking. 'In my supposed dream. You needed no focus object and no staff to cast…'

Heavy, staggering steps approached; they heard the harsh scratch of metal against stone – Solas hastily withdrew behind her, and towards the tunnel, yet he did not have time to vanish. Or he merely stopped, in shock.

Cassandra covered her mouth with both hands.

High Seeker Aldern ambled inside the room, clutching his chest, though it was clear that nothing could stem the flow of blood; he took perhaps two more steps before collapsing. Cassandra rushed to his side and turned him, only to find that blood was equally flowing from his lips, and that death was upon him. She desperately pressed her hands atop his, her tears mingling with his blood, and notice neither the fact that Solas was pulling her away with all his might, nor the sound of heavy footsteps, until it was too late.

Martel tossed her sword on the floor, and spat to the side.

'I believe you misplaced this at the safe house,' he mockingly said. 'I thought it would be courteous to return it.'

Blood clouded her vision and pulsed in her ears.

'Murderer,' she whispered, reaching for her sword's hilt in blind. 'Murderer…'

Martel paid her no heed. 'Seekers!' he shouted, 'the traitor has slain the High Seeker! Arrest her! Arrest her!'

Her companions rushed into the room, swords at the ready, and Cassandra saw herself through their eyes.

_Kneeling by the body of the High Seeker. His blood on her face. His blood on her hands. His blood on her sword…_

They grabbed her, and pushed her to the floor, roughly pulling her hands behind her back – and despite the stampede of blackened iron boots, she could see that Solas was suffering the same, if not much worse…High Seeker Aldern blood pooled around her face and crept through her hair.

_How many more people can I fail?_ Cassandra wondered, then closed her eyes.

_Thousands. No. Tens of thousands._

And she had failed them already.

* * *

Well, that did not go quite as predicted, did it? Poor Solas, if you will pardon my vulgar pun, is a bit of a Cassandra of Troy. He keeps telling that stuff will go awry, but nooobody listens.

Hope you are having fun,

Cheers,

Abstract.


	6. The Plate Mail Combat Skirt

Never consume a force field larger than your head.

_-Evil Overlord Wisdom Quotes_

* * *

It was dark and damp; her wrists hurt hellishly, but her heart hurt more. She'd been expecting that Solas would at least say something to distract her, but he was equally quiet, and, she guessed, in far more pain than she was, for his eyes were closed and his breathing was labored. The wrist chains in this dungeon were designed for humans, not elves, and his feet barely touched the ground.

'I'm sorry,' Cassandra whispered.

'What for?'

'For not listening. If I had stayed back at the safe house, he would not have known I was still alive, or at least not known that I'd learned his secret. If I'd trusted you…'

'You had no reason to.'

'If I had let you go up first through the trap door, at Lazzaro's, we'd have found out the same things, and the Templars would not have known that I was alive. If I had listened to Byron in training, I'd not have lost my sword. If I had listened to him and not raised the alarm when he took Avexis, I…None of this…'

'I got Byron killed. I got High Seeker Aldern killed. I got all of those mages and Templars killed. The Divine will die, tomorrow, because of me. You will die, because of me.'

'Well, temperance is not your greatest quality,' Solas replied, 'but none of this is of your making, Cassandra. You did try your best, against powers overwhelming, and you were alone.'

'I wasn't,' she whispered.

'Well, there are still laws, Martel!' Grand Enchanter Edmonde's voice exploded, from the far end of the corridor. 'You cannot just use tranquility as punishment for common law infringements, it's not a whipping, for the Maker's sake!'

Solas and Cassandra exchanged a confused glance.

'And I don't think you understood me, Edmonde,' Martel thundered. 'You've proven to me that your mages could not have killed my patrol, and the things I've seen that hedge mage do… There must be a cabal of them somewhere, out there, and it is my duty to root them out. The tranquil do not lie.'

'Tranquility is not an interrogation technique, either,' Edmonde spat. 'I know what doors you are seeking to crack open here, Knight Commander, and I will not let you. You'll have the man executed tomorrow; a common law punishment for a common law crime. A mage, even an apostate, cannot be made tranquil unless they refuse a harrowing, and that is final.'

'I do not require your permission…'

'No, you do not, but this is breaking one of the Chantry's most ancient and holy rules. I am sure the Divine will have something to say about it. You are already toeing the line, in so many respects…'

'Me?' Martel barked. 'When blood mages and who knows whatever other covens run rampant through the land? Threatening to kill the Divine? Killing my men?'

'I don't care whether they killed the Emperor!' Edmonde shouted in return. 'I am not letting you set a precedent – because today, it may be murder. Tomorrow, it may be stealing extra food from the kitchens, or raising their voice at a Templar! Tranquility is a method of protection from demonic possession, not a punishment, and I will not apply the rights of tranquility to a man who has not refused a harrowing!'

'Andraste's Mercy! Then put him through one!'

'What? Now?'

'Yes, now! You have lyrium on you, don't you?'

They could hear Edmonde's huff all the way down to the cell.

'You just can't wait to stick a sword in that man, can you?'

'Or hear what he has to say. So, set it up.'

'As you wish,' the Grand Enchanter sighed. 'A waste of time and resources, but…as you wish.'

He shuffled away, while Martel confidently strode forth; Cassandra gritted her teeth.

'Well, well, well,' Martel said, smiling, and running his iron glove on the cage bars. 'After all you've done…You've landed your heads on the chopping block, and we've still got Avexis, and, of course…this,' he ended, tossing the speaking stone in the air, and deftly catching it behind his back.

'You're a monster!' Cassandra spat.

'No, girl,' he laughed. 'I am a visionary – we are visionaries. The mages have had too much freedom, for too long; tomorrow, the entirety of Orlais will see that. When the new Divine rises, we will no longer have mages running amok…'

Solas chuckled. 'Except the very respectable ones that you deal with, one might presume.'

Martel shrugged it off.

'Frenic and his will be dealt with swiftly and appropriately, as will whatever coven you belong to, rabbit. And under our new rule, there'll be no second chances, no option to surrender to a cushy Circle…'

'It will be glorious,' the elf sighed, in mock extasy.

'You will be singing a very different tune in but a moment. In the end, I do not even need you tranquil, though nothing would give me more pleasure than wiping the smirk off your face and set you on chamber pot cleaning duty…Yet, in the end, it is indifferent to me – the desperation with which you've fought to recover this stone tells me it has something to do with finding your companions. And I shall have your head, whether by making it empty, turning you into an abomination, or at the latest tomorrow…'

'So that the girl who thought herself a Seeker dies knowing she has one more man's blood on her hands.' Martel ended, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

'And just who is the Divine that would help you to the carnage you plan?' Cassandra spat. 'Does she not think of the blood that _she_ will have on her hands? If she unleashes dragons upon thousands, tomorrow…'

'That would make it your fault for not stopping her, would it not, Seeker?' the Knight Commander mockingly put in.

'What is her name?'

'You'll die without knowing,' Martel replied, smiling. 'I'll seek Edmonde. He's taking his time.'

'What is her name?' Cassandra screamed, straining against her chains, as he tuned and walked off. 'Her name, you bastard! Come back here! Aaargh!'

Her shout echoed on the cold stones, and died in the darkness.

* * *

'So…how long does this normally take?'

Cassandra strained her shoulders to turn her shocked glance to the elf.

'Excuse me?' she asked, her throat still raw from the earlier shouting.

'You have explained that this harrowing is basically feeding me some highly concentrated lyrium potion, to send me into the Fade and confront my inner demons,' the man sighed. 'Or the like - I got both bored, and terrified that man could cast other men to beasts unarmed and unprepared. Though I do not know why it should so surprise me, bear baiting is ever popular entertainment…I am simply asking how long I should be baiting the bear _for_.'

She still did not understand.

'_Bait it?'_

'Well, I've no intention of fighting any spirit,' Solas frowned.

'It's a demon!'

'Cassandra,' he said, in the tone of a man who was explaining that water was wet, 'I am quite assured that there is no demon. The Fade often imitates the dreamer's expectations, so I assume most of the apprentices put through this ordeal do encounter one, or morph whatever spirit they do encounter into one precisely because they have been told a demon would be there.'

'You're not only an apostate,' Cassandra remarked, her eyes wide. 'You're a complete lunatic.'

'Be that as it may, ahem, how long should I pretend to be fist fighting a demon for?' he grumbled. 'I should not like to nap through your execution.'

'A lunatic and a charmer,' she sighed. 'I don't know how long it should last,' the young woman yielded. 'Seekers do not preside over harrowings, only Templars and mages do. I have heard it said that the longer it lasts, the lesser the chances that the candidate will succeed.'

'Thus – an hour? Two?' the elf impatiently shot. 'Please make a decision, I hear our company stomping this way.'

'You genuinely think you can manipulate a harrowing?'

'I've reason to be confident,' he said, as an ashen face Edmonde, followed by Martel and ten of his Templars entered the cell.

'Phylactery first,' Martel said; Solas paled, and Cassandra felt her world die a little bit more.

Which was strange, she numbly considered – she thought her entire world was dead already.

* * *

'Oops,' Martel said, letting the blood-filled vial slip through his fingers – unlike the first two times, however, Edmonde caught it, and gave the Knight Commander a glance that might have killed men who still had any concept of shame.

Cassandra closed her eyes and thanked the Maker; she'd never seen a phylactery before, and had not known that they were quite that large…or well, she had imagined they were much smaller, but the vial, with its twin chambers, was twice thicker than a man's thumb, and would not have fit into the palm of her hand. Martel had broken the first two on purpose, she was sure of it, as Edmonde was; Solas did not seem much worse for it, but even the taking of the blood had been unnecessarily brutal, and Andraste…so much blood, on the open floor, just before a harrowing…

'Enough,' Edmonde said, his jaws clenched and his eyes filled with lightning. 'Take this to the Spire, label it and put it with the others,' he commanded one of the Templars; Martel slowly nodded, so his man spun on his heels and left. 'And untie the elf. Let's get this charade over with.'

Despite the blood loss, Solas did not even stagger, and the irony with which he regarded the Knight Commander was unmistakable. There was a certain lack of grace to his step as he came to stand into the circle; pure lyrium crystals had been placed in the corners of a pentagram drawn out of lyrium dust. Solas contemplated it with bemusement.

'Is that meant to contain a demon?' he asked of Edmonde.

'Only an abomination, and only until the Templars can slay it,' the Grand Enchanter replied. 'Master Solas.'

'Yes? I am all pointy ears.'

Edmonde bowed his head and bit his lower lip.

'It is my obligation to inform you that you may refuse the harrowing. This will result in a mandatory sentence of tranquility…'

'…and a lifetime of emptying Templar chamber pots. Knight Commander Martel has already been courteous enough to inform me.'

'You choose to proceed with the harrowing, then?'

'I am no fonder of Templars than of chamber pots, although I do find the latter of more use than the former. I was led to believe I am to ingest something – shall we begin?'

The Great Enchanter nodded briefly, and extended a chalice to Solas. He passed a hand over it, causing a small, turquoise flame rose from the liquid lyrium.

'It does not burn,' Edmonde whispered.

'Of course it does not, it is veilfire,' Solas said, drily, taking the chalice and drinking it to the bottom.

Cassandra expected him to drop off his feet; she'd never seen mages being initiated, but she had seen the effects of raw lyrium on templar initiates. The thing in the cup could only have been that, but stronger, for whatever veilfire was, it could only concentrate the substance. After all, mages did not just go into the Fade every time the quaffed a lyrium potion.

Solas did not drop off his feet. Instead, though both Edmonde and Martel were looking at him with eyes as large as royal dinner plates, he politely handed the chalice back to the Grand Enchanter, lied down calmly, crossed his arms under his head, and his legs at the ankles. Then, he closed his eyes, and simply went to sleep.

_Ha!_

'What in the Maker's name…' Edmonde breathed. 'Have you _ever_ seen anything like this?'

'Do you now understand why I wanted to know what in the Abyss he is?' Martel snarled.

'Partly,' the Grand Enchanter shrugged; judging by his tone, he was beginning to see the humour of the situation. 'But I think you should be sure of two things – whatever he is, he didn't have a coven to drink _that_ with him, and that you'd better pray he doesn't turn into an abomination. Because if he does…'

'Oh, he will not,' Cassandra said, finding her own voice. 'He'll wake up in about two hours, fresh as a daisy.'

'And ready to have his head lopped off,' the Knight Commander muttered.

'Or ready to give you more of what he gave you at the safe house,' she shrugged, chuckling despite the fact that Martel turned about and slapped her across the face.

'Are you getting cocky, you little bitch?' he hissed.

'No,' Cassandra responded, still chuckling. 'But both you and I have seen what he can do when he's not even in a true fighting mood. And now you've super-charged him with raw lyrium.'

'She does have a point, Martel,' Edmonde said; Martel looked as though he has swallowed a slug.

* * *

'I cannot believe you did it,' Cassandra whispered; there were two guards by their cell, now, and Solas had been chained back by her side as soon as he had awoken – precisely two hours from when he'd gone to sleep, and he had been declared utterly demon-free. 'The look on Martel's face…'

'He did look as though he was going to change our sentences from decapitation to drawing and quartering, yes,' Solas replied.

'Did you truly defeat a demon?'

He huffed. 'No, Cassandra I did not. I had a short chat with a friend, then took a small walk.'

'In the _Fade?'_

'Was I walking about in the cell? In the Fade, of course in the Fade,' Solar replied, in irritation. 'The one I was looking for was slightly hard to find, but I did find her. You failed to mention that this Avexis child is one of the people.'

'Does that bear any relevance?' the young woman bitterly inquired. 'Frenic has her; he made her drink dragon blood. The Circle Mages were able to free her of his influence temporarily, but…'

'…but they are not Elvhen, and their knowledge of the arcane is about as high as a toad's knee,' he chided. 'It takes far more than being forced to swallow dragon blood to sever _our_ connection to the Beyond. Have you ever heard the term _Somniari?'_

'They only exist in Tevinter,' Cassandra muttered.

'If I hear that one more time,' the elf hissed, 'I swear on the blessed Beyond that I will…curse. Profusely. Reference anatomy in impolite and random ways. Ass, for example.'

'That's your idea of cursing profusely?'

'Human insults lack depth,' he shrugged; despite it all, she laughed.

_Of all the people to await death with, it had to be my lot to find the one that considered saying 'ass' was a mortal insult. A mage, and apostate, and a madman to boot._

'Maker,' she said. 'I'm going to my death laughing.'

'Better than to go crying, I say,' Solas replied. 'Don't give Martel that satisfaction, Cassandra. I certainly shan't.'

'Are you not even a tiny bit afraid?'

The elf looked at the ceiling, and remained silent for so long that she feared he had not heard her. Perhaps he had not. She had, after all, spoken in such a small voice…

'No,' he simply responded. 'Like you, I have a quest…a purpose, if you will. Recuperating those stones is but the first step; if I fail at that, my presence here is pointless, and my survival has no goal. And again, much like you, surviving in whatever the world has…will,' he oddly corrected, 'become, in the wake of my failures would be a far greater punishment than death.'

In silence, she felt along the wall; it did not take her long to find what she was looking for; she passed it from one hand to the other, then painstakingly stretched to press the little patch of moss into Solas' hand. He looked up at it and smirked.

'Moss?' he asked.

'It reminded me of you.'

'By being wet and slippery?'

'No. Because you're starting to grow on me,' Cassandra replied.

The door to the cell swung open; it was time.

* * *

Cassandra could only hear the roar of the crowds outside the walls, and, judging by the sun, it was approaching high noon. The Grand Clerics would have made an appearance by now, and the Divine would soon ascend the White Spire…

Nothing remained of the crippling regret that had possessed her during the night; Solas was right, this was none of her doing, thus only the rage remained. The rage at the fact that Martel was standing proud in the armour of an institution he had so thoroughly betrayed. Rage, at what the Knight Commander knew was going to happen. At the barely disguised smirk on his features – at the fact that he had seen it fit to bring no less than fifty of his men. Not to protect himself against her, she was sure.

She clenched her teeth and stepped toward the executioner's block, then keeled before it, taking a moment to count the grooves upon its surface before laying her neck upon it.

'Commendable courage,' Martel commented. 'Stand aside,' he ordered the axe-man. 'I will dispatch this fallen Seeker myself…'

'Oh, Maker above, shine down your light and save me!' Solas suddenly shouted; so great was the shock that she jolted back straight, and looked over her shoulder at the elf. This, Cassandra thought, had to be the most…

Yet, while Solas's voice had sounded like a desperate plea, there was no trace of desperation on his features or in his eyes; he caught her glance, and looked up, at the crevices in the wall above. She caught it too, then – a glint of…a mage's focus stone? An arrow-head? What…

'Silence, prisoner,' one of the Templars barked.

Martel chuckled. 'I do so love late in life conversions,' he said, almost to himself. 'Position, Seeker,' he growled at Cassandra, rotating the gigantic executioner's axe as if it had been a toy. 'How unfortunate for you that you have long hair,' he distractedly noted, as she once more lay her neck down on the block. 'Normally, I would have advised that you wear it up, just in case I might miss but…oh well, no time. Yet another thing you will have to tell Byron and the High Seeker, when you all meet in the Abyss.'

He swung his axe high; Cassandra closed her eyes – it was for the best, as the blast of blinding light that exploded just above her might have taken her sight. It certainly caused Martel and his Templars to stagger back, shielding their eyes. She pushed herself to roll over the block, and swept Martel's feet from under him, causing him to fall flat on his back. From above, from the crevices that Solas had indicated, mages started jumping down all around them. Ten, no, twenty…fifty…She stopped counting.

She hurried to Solas' side just as Alte was cutting the elf's bonds.

'Did you actually need me for that, comrade?' the red-haired mage joked, turning his dagger to Cassandra's bonds.

'No, but I needed you for the rest of them,' Solas calmly replied – and indeed, all about them, the Circle mages were taking full advantage of the still staggered and blinded Templars, by knocking them over their helmets with their staves, laying them flat and kicking their weapons away from them. 'I simply thought that since my mood has gotten quite confrontational, you'd be more apt in dealing with them without killing them. Behind you,' he warned, but Cassandra was already upon the one enemy who'd stealthily approached them.

She kicked him in the chin so powerfully that the man flew back ten feet, then spun on herself, delivering another swift, and equally powerful blow to another enemy.

'That finally explains the combat skirt,' Alte said, after an appreciative whistle.

'Not the lack of a guard for the femoral artery, however,' Solas shrugged. 'Fine legs, though.'

'Ugh! The Divine…'

The stun was beginning to wear off, and as the mages were truly posing an effort not to use their craft, more than one Templar rose, weapon in hand. They gave no thought to aid their comrades who were engaged with the mages – they had no reason to, for while mages might have had some hand to hand skill with their staves, they were still weak. They encircled Alte, Solas and Cassandra instead, drawing cautiously closer.

'Now what?' Cassandra asked.

'Need a walking stick, Master Solas?' Alte asked.

'For appearance's sake,' the elf replied, looking at the sky. There was a flicker of white in his eyes – she knew what it meant, she knew what was coming…

'No, don't, please,' the young woman pleaded; she could barely hear herself, for the Circle mage whistled again, to gain one of his companions' attention – a staff whizzed over her head, and Solas caught it securely, not even looking its way. He was still dreamily glancing at the sky, and seconds ticked by, with the templars getting ever closer…Nothing was happening.

'I'll miss,' Solas promised. Even though skirmishes were going on all around them, the world felt eerily still, as if a growing void had been slowly growing to engulf them.

'I'd say it's preferable that you don't,' Alte grumbled, 'and that perhaps a tad of celerity might be in order…'

It was then that the air above them started shifting colour; it was no more than a ripple, at first, but it expanded to cover the courtyard in mere heartbeats. It swirled, flame chasing flame, mere feet above their heads but still nothing happened. Alte had to place his staff under the chin of one of the more daring Templars and cause him to jolt back.

Then, it began.

Fiery arrows, not raining down randomly, but each finding precise aim at the Templars' feet, and exploding there. Flashes of flame and smoke, and small ground tremors – and Maker, Cassandra thought, he was controlling them all, thousands of them, not only in terms of where they landed, but in terms of how powerful each one was. Only mages emerged from the thick black smoke, none of their robes even minutely charred – a young elf, in apprentice robes and with Dalish markings, ran looking up at the sky, so inattentive of where he was going that he tripped over the body of an unconscious Templar, and fell to his knees at Solas' feet.

'_Felassan,'_ he whispered, looking up, in sheer awe. 'It's impossible, but…it is…'

Solas merely looked down and shook his head, with a little smile. 'It _is_ impossible.'

The boy sheepishly nodded, in turn, looking awestruck.

'Let's go!' Cassandra shouted, to cover the pandemonium; she did not wait to see if she was followed. The cheers of the crowd outside were so loud that they were covering the fire and the explosions, which could only mean that the Divine herself had emerged, and that she was running out of time.

She scanned the courtyard for a way to the battlements, and rushed to the closest she could find, only to find it guarded by the one man she wished Solas might not have missed. Martel stood there, untouched, shield and weapon at the ready, while she…

He did not wait; vicious blows came at her from the left and the right, forcing her to dodge and retreat, lithe on her feet, and fast in her movement, effortlessly dancing around his blows but equally knowing that even if she found a weakness, a slip, she'd be unable to take advantage of it. And still, as the dance continued, and all time stopped to a crawl, she could see a number of them, as if Byron himself had been there to whisper them in her ear.

_His swings are too wide, he leaves his chest open – the small gap between breastplate and shoulder guard. His swings are too heavy, he relies on his weight and momentum – when he slashes, he lets his sword carry him too much…_

'Cassandra, catch!' Alte called from behind – she did, just in time to parry, for she had been so focused on her dance that even a moment's distraction had almost cost her an eye.

'He's mine,' she growled, bringing her sword low, and forcing him to follow; she kicked him in the chest, pushing him away, and giving herself time to regain her breath and bring up her guard.

'You're a stubborn little…'

It was all that Martel had time to say, because she came at him with the fury of a thousand harpies – but she was in control, she felt, in total control. No wide swings, short and vicious swipes, forcing him to move, forcing him to parry, finally dictating the pace of the dance. He might have been bigger, but she was faster; still, there was no hope of tiring him out and he caught up with amazing speed of his own. Metal screeched against metal, and this time she was too close to push him against once more.

'You'll never have a name out of me, girl,' he spat; his jaws were clenched with effort, and so were hers.

'I won't need one, in the end,' Cassandra answered. 'I will just need to look for the one Grand Cleric who is not out in the open when the dragon attack comes…Argh!'

He was so much stronger, and he was pressing his blade to hers with all her might. Neither of them could break the contact without endangering themselves, nor could they loosen their grips; the first one whose sword would be thrown wide would be dead, and they both knew it. She, Cassandra reasoned, could leap back – her stomach was protected by the breastplate, and if he simply swiped…

_No, no, no,_ Byron's voice resounded in her thoughts. _He is too good a fighter, too experienced; he won't swipe, he will lunge, you can't..._

Too good a fighter, Cassandra considered; beads of clear sweat were gathering on her forehead. Too good a fighter to ignore an obvious opening…She moved her feet closer together, seemingly to aid in her push, but it was an invitation he could not resist, demons, she would not have resisted it either. It was all done in a flash, then: he swept her off her feet, and as she fell, he swung his sword arm wide, for the next blow.

But armors did not only have open, soft joints at the shoulder; they also had soft joints at the elbow, and while his elbow guard might have protected him from the outside, from the inside…Cassandra let herself fall, and lifted her sword above her head, holding its hilt with both hands, and looking…

_Yes!_

Her blade found the elbow joint, seamlessly, and, driven not only by her own strength, but by the momentum of Martel's kick, the weapon found flesh, and severed the Templar's arm neatly at the elbow. It rolled several paces away. Stunned with pain and incomprehension, Martel staggered back, looking at the stump, then tripped and fell onto his back.

Cassandra lifted her sword to strike, feeling as though her very blood was burning with hate. She wanted no more than to split this vile man's head in two, yet…

_Hate can only breed more hate._

She stopped her blow short, contenting herself with placing the tip of her sword under Martel's chin.

'Hate can only breed more hate,' Cassandra said, out loud. 'The man you murdered taught me that. Tie him up,' she said to Alte. 'He'll face the Chantry's justice, not my own.'

The red haired mage smiled. 'You are remarkable,' he said, with a little appreciative nod. 'You heard the Seeker, gentlemen.'

She rushed toward the staircase to the battlements, barely paying attention to what was happening behind her; two mages were indeed struggling to get Martel to his feet, but they were too weak, he, too heavy, and still too fast – he shook them off himself then darted on her trail, picking his sword up with his left hand. It was too little, too late though. Cassandra spun on herself and simply took off his head.

'Guess he did not care for a trial?' Solas asked, stepping to her side.

'Guess not,' she briskly replied, wiping her blade of blood on her armour.

Outside, large bells began to toll, downing out the crowds.

'The gathering,' she breathed. 'It's starting! ...and what in the Abyss are you…'

Solas, who'd kneeled by Martel's corpse, looked up at her with the same annoyed teacher expression he'd had on that first night. He held up the speaking stone for her inspection.

'Finding Frenic,' he stingingly said.

'Ah,' Cassandra replied, feeling somewhat chastised. 'Thank you.'

'Don't thank me. Hear that?'

She did not immediately hear it, no, but…she heard it soon enough. Not only the flap of dragons' wings, but screams and wails.

'They'll trample each other,' she whispered.

'I have him.' Solas calmly said.

'Need a hand?' Alte inquired. 'Cassandra is right, the people…'

'Tossing spells at moving targets does not seem like the best way to approach a situation where tens of thousands of civilians are packed in tight quarters.' The elf replied. 'Perhaps it would be better advised to try to evacuate the square.'

The Circle mage rapidly nodded, and set his people in motion with a swift movement of his chin.

'The Seekers will aid,' Cassandra said, looking up at the staircase. 'I need…I need a dagger.'

'You are not seriously contemplating attacking a dragon head on,' Alte protested.

'She's a dragon hunter,' Solas replied. 'She's already slain a high dragon on her own.'

'Not with a dagger, surely!'

'The dagger is not for killing,' the elf replied, leaving Cassandra with her mouth ajar. 'The dagger is for climbing.'

She found it in herself to nod – who was this man, how did he know…so much, about everything…

'Alright,' Alte said, shaking his head in disbelief, but nonetheless passing his dagger to Cassandra. 'I'll clear the square, or at least shield as much as I can, then join you up there…Any last words?'

'For the Chantry!' Cassandra cried.

'Just don't die,' Solas sighed, in return.

* * *

Well, you must be wondering about the title...It is a pun on what Cassie is wearing throughout Dawn of the Seeker, which is the plate version of the legendary chain mail bikini. For those of you who have not seen the movie, it really is a plate mail miniskirt, with suspenders. I also go out in a plate mail miniskirt and suspender stockings when I fight dragons. It is to my great good fortune that the dragons burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of my outfit, and just fly off...

Nonetheless, it does not prevent heroics, coming up next, where Cassie finally shows what she's good at. And no, it still isn't listening.

As for Solas, the thought of what he might make of a harrowing always amused me, so...Plus I will need the phylactery later on. But, no more talk.

Action, action, action!

Thanks for reading and commenting,

Cheers,

Abstract


	7. Lost in Translation

Solas strongly disapproves.

_-Dragon Age Inquisition, Solas catchphrase._

* * *

'Maker's breath!'

'One could say that, yes,' Solas muttered. 'I'd say – ass.'

The damage to the square was already extensive – the White Spire was still standing, but a significant portion of the wide marble balcony where the Grand Clerics should have been standing was gone, and blood was dripping over its torn edge. The Divine herself still stood, but a tail swipe from one of the dragons had sealed the staircase; men and women in Seeker battle irons were labouring to open it, yet it looked as though it would take a while to clear.

Six dragons were indeed circling above, taking out vast portions of the walls with their wings and talons.

'I don't think I can do all six,' Cassandra said, in awe.

'Once I reach Frenic, you won't have to,' Solas responded, clutching his borrowed staff. 'You'll need to take two, at least, though. And that you can do; these are just older hatchlings…Can you see which one of your Grand Clerics is not bleeding to death, out there?'

She scanned the balcony, and one colour – or rather, its absence struck her immediately; the Orlesian royal amethyst.

'Orlais,' she said. 'But it could simply be that she is trapped under some rubble somewhere…'

'Alright. Try to land the dragons on the battlements, before Alte and his men secure the square. Good hunting, Cassandra.'

'Same to you,' she said, and jumped over the bannister, only to land securely on the back of one of the dragons.

Solas was right, they were mere dragonlings, probably of such an age that they had taken flight but a week or so prior; their back scales were still soft, and she secured herself on its back by driving the dagger into its flesh, and pulling herself forward. The creature startled and broke its flight pattern, but it did not inconvenience in the least; the dagger stab must have felt like a mosquito sting, and Cassandra's weight on his back was almost too small to notice. She took great care in not driving her sword too far in, too; young they may have been, but she did not fancy her chances if the dragon took too great a notice of the nuisance on its back and went into a barrel roll.

Cassandra knew exactly where to strike – on the side of the neck, a mere six feet away, but she let none of the adrenaline or her rage blind her as she crawled forth, foot by foot. The dragon was dead, though he did not know it, but from this one, she'd have to move on to the next, and for that, she'd have to be close enough to jump off at the opportune moment. Either another dragonling, or the battlements would do. What she could not afford was to go down with the creature, or let herself be caught in its death thrashes.

Yet, by the Maker, she needed to hurry; the other five were taking increasingly strong swipes at the White Spire, and the structure would not last long. She saw another pair of wings flutter underneath, and knew her chance was now. Finally in reach, she stabbed her sword into her dragon's neck to the hilt, allowing herself to slide off, but never letting go of the blade; she only pushed herself off at the opportune moment – her dragon wailed, crimson pouring from its throat, and crashed against the battlements.

Cassandra herself landed on the second dragon's neck, and there was no time for subterfuges now, the second creature immediately sensed her, and started shaking vigorously, while flying straight up. There was but a moment to think but she used it well. She stabbed the creature in one eye, causing it to shriek in mad pain and descend, in the one direction whether it could still see, veering dangerously towards left, and the marble colonnades of the balcony where the Grand Clerics had stood. She did not stab it in the neck this time – not yet; instead she crawled on its right wing, securely pushing both sword and dagger though the thick membrane, and using her weight to rip the wing apart, as well as slow her own descent. With only one wing, and one good eye, the dragon crashed onto the balcony, breaking its only healthy wing in the process.

Cassandra jumped off it, a safe six feet from the ground, then cautiously rolled away; it was bleeding to death, she was sure of it, yet one swipe of its uncontrolled talons would mean death.

It was only then that she saw a familiar figure, clad in perfect, dark purple, slinking in the shadows. She could well see the Grand Cleric of Orlais, and for a moment, she thought to shout out and warn the cleric not to get too close to the dying dragon, but…

The woman was ambling away, towards…

_Frenic?_

Cassandra could see him now, too, Avexis standing, yet swaying as if in a dream just a few paces behind him. The Mage's hideous face was further distorted by rage; his dragonlings were still circling the divine, but they were too young to breathe fire, and the White Spire held.

'Enough,' the blood mage barked. 'Bring in the High Dragon!'

Avexis swayed on her feet even further, looking as though she might have fallen off her feet at any minute…and she did, her blank purple eyes wide and rimmed with tears. She did not fall to the cold stone though, she fell into Solas' arms.

_Too late,_ she thought.

'Too late,' Frenic said, with a hideous smile. 'It's here…'

The roar was deafening, as were the screeches of the remaining dragonlings. The three century old gate of the Chantry's hold exploded into fire and brimstone, and from the smoke emerged a high dragon the likes of which not even Cassandra had seen before – it was a male, well over eighty feet long, and with a wingspan of sixty. It circled, breathing fire at the sky, then positioned itself in alignment, enormous wing span steady and ruby red eyes set on the Divine.

'Break it!' Cassandra shouted. 'Break the spell…'

But Solas could not, or would not hear her; he'd placed one knee on the ground, and his hand over Avexis' forehead, murmuring in Maker knew what language…

'She can't hear you,' Frenic mockingly said. 'She's mine.'

Cassandra didn't have a single heartbeat to waste; she jumped over the battlements almost in blind, landing behind the skull of one of the dragonlings. She stabbed her sword to the right of its skull, and her dagger to the left; the dragon screeched and bucked, but there was no throwing off her would be rider, nor escaping her commands.

On top of the Spire, alone and undefended, with no path down, Divine Beatrix opened her arms to embrace martyrdom; the high dragon opened its maws and pointed its talons forward.

Then, at amazing speed, Cassandra crashed her unwilling, thrashing mount into the high dragon's side, throwing it off course at the very last second. Surprised, the dragon sent a jet of flame towards the sky, and rolled away, its talons ripping at the belly of its unexpected attacker – both flow to the left, at amazing speed, and Cassandra landed safely by the Divine's side.

'Are you alright, your worship?' she asked.

'Cassandra,' the Divine whispered. 'I thought…They told me…'

'All lies, your worship,' Cassandra replied, leaning on one knee.

Great rocks rumbled to the side, and one by one, armed and armoured Seekers pushed the boulders blocking the upper portion of the staircase aside.

'Your Worship!' the first one to emerge from the rubble shouted. 'The stairs are clear! We must take you to safety…The dragon merely crashed, it is not dead…'

'Go with them, your worship,' Cassandra breathed, darting to her feet. 'My work here is not done.'

'Maker's blessings, my child,' Beatrix whispered.

* * *

Cassandra did not know how her feet had carried her so fast – down the winding staircase of the White Spire, through the chanting crowds and back onto the battlements. She ran past all of them, past all the destruction, past the still breathing high dragon. A thought crossed her mind, like lightning: the creature did not seem injured, it simply seemed…_asleep?_

She did not dwell on it; Frenic was still alive, his ally within the clerics still at large…

She stopped short.

The high dragon, Cassandra understood, was asleep because Avexis herself was asleep. Whatever magic Solas had employed on her, it had taken a few minutes to work, but it had worked. He was flanked by Alte and the young, face marked elf, and it looked as though no frantic shouting or coaxing from Frenic could bring the child back.

Cassandra joined them, and brought her sword to the ready.

'You think you will bring me to surrender so easily?' Frenic cackled. 'I've no idea what tricks you employed, elf, but once the girl wakes up, she will be mine again.'

'I very much doubt that,' Solas responded. 'She is my realm now, and there she will stay, until none of you can ever harm her or use her again.'

'I still have allies!'

'The Knight Commander is dead,' Cassandra said, drily. 'There is no one coming to your aid.'

'I…need…no…aid!' The blood shouted, spinning his staff and calling to the blood of all the fallen; Maker, there was a plenty…

Cassandra took an unwilling step back, as did the young mage apprentice. In turn, Solas and Alte merely exchanged a glance.

'Pride, you think?' Alte asked.

'I would not bet against you.'

A disgusting flurry of blood hid Frenic from view for a few seconds, just enough time for Solas to put Avexis down, to one side, and out of the path of any incoming spells. And the spell did come, a ball of fire that engulfed stone and iron on its path, turning into twisting lava. It did not serve – like milk split on a stone, it broke upon the three mages' barrier's, and solidifying into a jagged crest at their feet, like a wave suddenly frozen.

When the blood cleared, Frenic stood whole, his artificial, golden eye shining dully.

'Frenic…' a desperate whisper came from the side. 'Frenic…'

Celeste, the Grand Cleric of Orlais, was limping towards them, her hand extended to the blood mage.

'Grand Cleric,' Cassandra whispered; the other woman paid her no heed.

'We must flee, we must find refuge…' she chocked out. 'All is lost here…'

'Orlais, in the end…'

Frenic extended his arm to her, and the cleric gripped it in desperate hope. It was but a trap; once he had purchase on her hand, the blood mage simply pulled her close, and pushed his staff through her belly, shaking her off it immediately, as if she'd sullied it. The woman fell at his feet, twitching.

'They thought to play me, this one and her lap dog,' Frenic chuckled. 'Whereas I was playing all of their ambitions…'

He twirled his bloodied staff between his fingers.

'It's not too late for you,' he said, his good eye darting from Solas to Alte. 'All that I want is a new world, freed of the tyranny of the Chantry – you think I wasn't like you, once?' he asked, viciously glancing at the red-haired mage. 'A prisoner under their heel? Bait for their swords, my heart and spirit heaving under their Chant? Join me…It's not too late. We have the girl, we have the dragon, but we could have countless dragons. We can erase them all, and in the ashes of their false belief, build a new kingdom, by mages ruled…'

_I should be afraid, now,_ Cassandra thought. _Why am I not?_

'A world in which mages enslave other mages?' Alte politely inquired. 'No, thank you.'

'Dog, how well they have trained you! But, you, elf,' Frenic spat, 'you…Caster without focus, master of dreams, you…You think I did not feel you in Avexis' thoughts, past eve? You are…'

'Nothing like you,' Solas said. 'In fact, the comparison insults.'

'Then I will destroy you too, along with the Chantry!' Frenic cried, turning the bloody staff on himself, and pushing it clear though his own stomach.

'Definitely Pride,' Alte said; grey, scaly plates had begun erupting from Frenic's shoulders. 'You owe me dinner.'

'I didn't bet,' Solar reminded, as the creature before them grew to almost thirty feet in height. 'Fire, ice, immune to lightning.'

'Got it!' the young apprentice said, firing a first salvo of fire projectiles; Alte followed suit, while Cassandra rolled under their spells and hacked at the thing's ankles. 'Twas as if her sword had struck stone – she ducked under the mighty blade bone on the demon's elbow. An ice spell slowed it just enough for her to roll out of the way, but she was back on the attack a second later, running up the bannister, and leaping at the demon's head.

It swatted her aside as if she'd been an insect, had it not been for Solas' shimmering, blue web, she'd have fallen over the bannister, hundreds of feet to the square below.

'How do we defeat that thing?' Alte shouted, from the opposite side of the battlements. Lightning whipped at the ground, raising more dust and rubble into the air.

'We don't,' Solas shouted back. 'Certainly not in four! Just run away from the lightning whips…Cassandra,' he whispered, shaking her. 'Cassandra, not a good time to pass out!'

'Is there ever a good time to pass out?' she whimpered, feeling across her ribcage.

'I could think of some, but this is not one of them. Reach Alte and his apprentice, then run.'

'What?'

'I am going to awaken Avexis. I don't want you to see that.'

The demon whipped its lightning threads from left to right, up and down, and roared at the sky.

'It's one of my…' the elf began.

'…it's one of your people's things, I get it,' she growled. 'If you think, after this, there will be anyone in the land who will want to arrest you…Crap!'

The middle of the battlements, the one above the staircase, collapsed as if it had been made of matchsticks.

'Well, there goes half my plan,' Solas muttered. 'Alte! Get off the walls, now!'

'Are you losing your…' the other mage shouted in return.

'No, but you won't like dragon fire from close range, just go!'

He did not wait for a response – still hidden by the dust and rubble, Solas jumped to the sleeping child's side, and gently lifted her head.

'Ara ma'athlan venas,' he whispered, his hand on the young girl's forehead. 'Necum melava somniar; ara deslen melar…'

'What are you saying to her…' Cassandra whispered, drawing close.

The little girl's eyelids fluttered.

'Necum meleva somniar – aragas mir rhenan. Ara ma'athlan venas.' Solas said, softly. Avexis's eyes flew open, and she smiled.

She was not in a trance, Cassandra immediately noted; her eyes were alive and shining, and whatever Solas had said to her, it did not seem even remotely related to the spells the Circle had used to remove her from Frenic's control. They'd merely induced a different type of control than the blood mage had. Solas, on the other hand…

The child was free, her wide eyes were clear, and she stood without staggering.

'We need the dragon, da'len,' Solas said, standing up in his turn.

Avexis simply nodded.

'For the demon,' she said.

'For the demon, yes,' the elf nodded. 'This will not be easy. It has to be your will alone, not mine.'

The last words seemed superfluous; the dragon rose and roared, spreading its wings – it breathed out, and Cassandra could only hope that Alte and his apprentice had heeded Solas' warning and gotten off the wall, for this explosion was the largest she'd seen the dragon produce thus far. The demon swatted at itself, seeking to quench the flames, but it had little time to do it. The dragon swooped down, grabbing the demon's shoulders in its talons, yet leaving its stomach exposed to the Pride demon's vicious elbow blade.

'Back off!' Cassandra screamed, a second too late. The demon's blade drew blood, and Avexis bent over, as if she had been struck. 'Help her,' the Seeker screamed at Solas. 'She can't…'

'I cannot help her, unless I take over her will.'

'Well, take over her will, Maker's Breath, she's just a little girl…'

'What part of me not being Frenic did you miss?' Solas snarled.

Avexis straightened as if she had been a long bent twig. The demon had caught hold of her dragon, and was pushing its jaws apart, seeking to break them. Fire nonetheless grew between them, not spraying forth but coiling into a massive sphere, which just kept growing, as the demon pushed the dragon's maw open, further and further…

'Now,' Avexis said.

The world turned into fire and brimstone.

* * *

It was not dead, the bloody thing was not dead, Cassandra thought, narrowing her eyes against the black smoke. The demon had fallen off the wall, and she'd allowed herself to hope that the last of the dragon's fire had consumed it – or a few moments, it had even appeared this, yet, its body a gigantic torch, the demon had rolled and grasped the wall with its claws. Dragging itself up, a body length, and then another. Avexis and her dragon were unconscious; Cassandra hoped that the girl was not dead, but the flying lizard certainly was, or would be of no further use. Its lower jaw hung slack, its tongue lolled grotesquely out, small, sulphurous flames igniting here and there…

The demon was climbing.

'The righteous go forth into the darkness, fearless,' Cassandra cried, 'for the Maker shall guide their hands!'

'Oh no, you're just going to jump off the wall,' Solas sighed. 'Can we at least talk about this…'

She jumped, sword held in both hands, and pointed at the demon's forehead.

'And now I suppose _I_ have to jump off the wall,' the elf groaned, leaping after her.

Her descent slowed, though she did not quite understand why; her aim was true, however, for her blade found true aim in the demon's skull, and it fell to the ground wailing. Cassandra rolled aside, but not even the tips of her hair were burnt. She caught a glimpse of a green flare, hastening the process, yet she was too shaken to care. The mighty demon dissolved into specks of ash, and rose towards the sky, until of it nothing remained; naught but a stone, a phylactery…a dull, golden eye rolling amid the cobbles of the square, caking itself in blood.

_Good riddance, Frenic._

Alte and his apprentice hurried down another set of stairs and reached them, dragging Avexis along, and sweeping her up in either of their arms when the rubble threatened to injure her small, bare feet. They nonetheless put up their own barriers, mere shimmers against the solid one that Solas had already raised.

Solas crushed the phylactery underfoot. Both Circle mages looked up at him, with a sense of urgency that Cassandra did not like.

Avexis herself looked down at the ground, then up at Solas.

'Ar lasa mal revasal,' Solas said. 'Now, you are free. Do you wish to stay, da'len?'

'Where would I go?' the girl asked.

'With me. Or alone, on your path. Anywhere but their prisons.'

Her answer was unambiguous – she wrapped her arms around Alte's waist, and hid her forehead in his robes. 'Stay,' Avexis whimpered, as Alte caressed her hair, and caught Solas' glance too. 'This is my only family. My only home.'

'Make me that offer,' the elvhen apprentice breathed – people were starting to press against the barrier. 'Make me that offer…'

'I'll make you a better one,' Solas said, approaching him and putting the stone into his hand.

'Fen'Harel enasal enaste,' the young one whispered; in turn, Solas leaned over and whispered something in his ear. He turned away, without a single glimpse goodbye in her direction; his barrier vanished, and so did he, gone, to Maker knew where…

The poeple of Val Royaux were chanting her name. Seekers and mages, even some templars, were raising their weapons, the air was vibrating with cries of joy – to the Maker's glory, to his Maiden Bride, to Cassandra herself.

Yet he was gone, as though he had never been, and she suddenly missed him.

* * *

'Fen'Harel enasal enaste,' Cassandra said.

The young face marked apprentice looked up from his book.

'May I help you?' he asked.

'What does it mean?'

'Nothing,' the elf shrugged. 'It's nonsense, and certainly nothing that the new Right Hand of the Divine should be preoccupied with. Have you no better things to do than to harass us, once more?'

'Harass?' Cassandra spat. 'I am asking a question.'

'Yes, you are. You have gained a title, a new armour, a new sword, a hefty book; in the meanwhile Grand Enchanter Edmonde and Alte are still in there with the Divine, begging that us mages might be pardoned. While the Chantry is preparing to burn Celeste, Grand Cleric of Orlais in full regalia, along with all the other clerics she murdered.'

'We cannot tell the truth of all this,' Cassandra whispered. 'The faithful…'

'We know you cannot, Seeker. The point of your order is to find the truth, then bury it where no one can find it. I would like to be left alone, please.'

'Look…' she pleaded, realising that she had never learned his name. 'I am just asking for the meaning of that phrase. Fen'Harel enasal enaste. It means something…'

'It is nonsense.' The elf returned. 'It is a twisted version of an elvhen prayer for the dead – Falun'Din, enasal enaste: the god of death embraces us all. That cannot be true of Fen'Harel, the only evil deity in the elvhen pantheon. If curiosity drags you forth, go and read a book. I am contemplating my own mortality, here. Take your own Divine-gifted tome and be on your way. She gave it to you so that if we mages survive this turn of the dice, we won't survive the next one.'

'That's not why she gave it to me, please…'

'The phrase is nonsense. Leave be, Cassandra Pentaghast, saviour of the realm and Right Hand of the Divine.'

She had no better luck with Grand Enchanter Edmonde, a few hours later, though the elderly man had not been as acid as the young apprentice. He'd invited her to his study, sat her down, and invited her to wait while he was looking for one of the very few books he possessed that might have had an explanation for the phrase.

'Did you truly only obtain a pardon?' Cassandra asked.

The old man chuckled, not looking away from his bookcase.

'The fact that Martel is gone does not mean there are no others like him, Seeker Penthaghast,' Edmonde replied. 'The lady who was closest poised to replace him – and truly had no links to the plot, a Commander by the name of Meredith, I think, was as adamant as he might have been that unauthorised forays outside the Circle should not be celebrated.'

'But you were heroes!'

'Kind of you to say so,' Edmonde said, this time laughing in earnest, 'but in saying this, you prove your age…Ah, here we are…'

He turned, and placed a foot-thick tome on the desk between them, coughing lightly as thin wisps of dust rose to the air.

'Everything in the world is dictated by precedent, Seeker.' He said, sitting down and bitterly smiling. 'What is important to the Templar Order is not what we did, but what we might do, in the future. Our actions had to be classed as rebellion, as a crime, lest we get ideas to repeat them when the situation does not adamantly call for them. Thus, you got a commendation for acting out of turn. We needed to be pardoned for the same.'

'And Divine Beatrix approved of it?' Cassandra muttered.

'Divine Beatrix had no choice. This is the law. What she did have a choice in was on whom would replace Martel, and it certainly not be this Commander Meredith. She will get a promotion, of course, she fought valiantly once the truth became evident, but she will not remain in Val Royaux. I think she will be the new Knight Commander of Kirkwall.'

'Pity the mages of Kirkwall,' she sighed.

'I know Grand Enchanter Orsino, he is a diplomatic man, and as law abiding as anyone might dare hope for,' Edmonde said, with a small shrug. 'If anyone can find some form of peace…But, what was the phrase that interested you so?'

'Fen'Harel enasal enaste,' Cassandra replied.

'Hm,' the Grand Enchanter said. 'Upon first hearing it…Yet, let us search a bit.'

It was not _a bit._ In fact, it took him the better part of two hours of searching though his tome, while he was hmm-ing and muttering to himself, and during which Cassandra had the poignant sensation that he'd forgotten she was even there, before he resolutely closed the tome, causing more dust to rise.

'I'm sorry,' he said, coughing and wheezing. 'It appears that the young apprentice was correct. The phrase is nonsense.'

'How so, I mean…'

'This is a prayer for protection.' Edmonde explained. 'But Fen'Harel is not a god any elf would seek protection from. In fact, he's the most likely they would seek protection against.'

'Your apprentice did mention he was considered an evil deity…'

'Not only that, Seeker, he is the ultimate evil deity,' the Grand Enchanter explained. 'The Dalish blame him for the banishment of their Creators, just as they blame us for infecting them with mortality. In fact, _May the Dread Wolf take you!_ is quite the staple among Dalish insults. There is no way anyone would invoke his protection, or even so boldly utter his name. He's said to be the only elven deity that is still around, and he does not sound the type that one would be pleased to see.'

'I see,' Cassandra said. 'Thank you for your time…'

'You are most welcome. But, Seeker, if you will allow me a question of my own?'

'Of course, Grand Enchanter.'

'Your friend, from the cell…' he thoughtfully began. 'Alte is…shall we say, very stingy on the details of what his magic precisely was, and normally, Alte holds no secrets from me. That is, of course, how I can tell he is lying, he lacks practice. But, while Alte keeps mum, I've seen quite a few extraordinary things about this elf with my own eyes. The harrowing, of course…More importantly, though, Avexis.'

'Avexis?' Cassandra frowned. 'You think he is still controlling her?'

'No,' Edmonde said, shaking his head. 'Quite the opposite, for you see, the strangest of all strange things happened to her, after the gathering – she remembers nothing, and more importantly, she cannot even call a cat, anymore. Let alone a dragon. Whatever he did to her, on that wall, he's turned her into a very happy, perfectly normal ten year old; whatever unexplainable elements of her powers there might have been, they're completely gone.'

'Is that not…_good?'_ the young woman asked, her eyes wide in surprise.

'It most certainly is, aside for the fact that she threw the tantrum of the ages when we had to make her a new phylactery. Not because she didn't understand why it was needed, but because she distinctly remembered we'd already made one, and she doesn't like needles. I know no ten year old who does.'

'It feels as though the entire part of her mind that could control beasts is now off-limits to her, and I know no magic that can do that – except if a very powerful _Somniari_ simply cut her off from that portion of the Fade.'

Cassandra felt her blood run cold. 'There are no Elven _Somniari_,' she responded, in a small voice. 'There have not been Elven _Somniari_ in hundreds of years.'

'Or none that we know of,' Edmonde shrugged. 'I know this is a hard ask, but can you recall anything, anything at all of what he said to her on that wall?'

She shook her head, in dismay at herself. 'It was very long, Grand Enchanter, and I was not exactly paying attention…'

'Just…just write down whatever you do recall?' the mage insisted, pushing a parchment and an inkpot her way.

Cassandra did try, in earnest, but it proved a hard talk indeed; this too consumed the better part of an hour, and she knew perfectly well that once the Grand Enchanter would take a single glance at her efforts, he'd dismiss them out of hand. The man did not, though he frowned deeply, and leafed though his book once more. He rang a bell on the side of his desk, and Alte peeked in.

'Can you get me Inshatoriel, please?' Edmonde asked. 'I need a hand at Elvhen.'

'Sure,' Alte said, disappearing once more, and returning with his very sullen looking young apprentice.

'I have already told the Seeker her phase is nonsense,' he said, in place of a greeting.

'And it was,' Edmonde soothingly said. 'We need a hand with this, though.'

The Grand Enchanter handed him the parchment, and the young man grimaced as if he had been looking at a picture of something horribly indecent. Still, he took a seat at a side table, and grabbed a quill; working fast, he fist drew harsh, cutting lines between the meaningless rows of letters on Cassandra's parchment, then, with much more care, wrote his own, correct version underneath.

'There,' he said, extending the corrected paper to Edmonde. '_Ara ma'athlan venas_,' he he said. '_Necum melava somniar; ara deslen melar. Necum melava somniar – aragas mir rhenan. Ara ma'athlan venas._'

'Did you just curse us?' Alte jested.

'Yes, you will all have donkey ears in the morning, for making me perform idiotic tasks,' the elf replied, cracking a smile. 'This is no magical incantation. It simply means: _I will guide you home, you will travel in dreams no longer. You belong to this world, no longer to the world of dreams – listen to my voice, and I will guide you home.'_

He looked about himself, then smirked at the expressions of incomprehension on the humans' faces.

'Any six year-old Elvhen could translate this for you,' Ishatoriel said. 'It's a bloody lullaby, or rather, the reverse of one. Dalish mothers throughout the land use these words to wake their children in the morning; my own mother did. It has no magic whatsoever.'

'And you are sure of this?' Alte frowned.

'Catch a six year-old Elvhen, and have it confirmed. Seriously.'

'Oh well,' Edmonde sighed. 'He _was_ trying to wake her up, so… Oh well. Good afternoon and eve, all.'

* * *

Cassandra read the note once more, than smashed it on the table, in utter rage. Just who did he think he was, this Alte? A mind reader? Maker's breath!

She'd read his letter ten times now, and her rage was not abating. She could still recite it from memory by now.

'The first key shan't be missed; Martel is hardly in a condition to ask where it went. The second one will, so I will appreciate its prompt return. Do what you know is right by your friend, who does not belong in a Circle. Leave the keys here after your business is concluded, I shall turn into smoke, glide in underneath your door, and recuperate them.

Just jesting, leave your door unlocked, please,

Cheers, A.'

She nonetheless grabbed both keys, stuffed them into her pockets, and started down the stairs, at first stomping, but then, as she approached the phylactery room, slowing down to a crawl, despite the fact that she knew the phylactery room of the White Spire was unguarded.

There was no need for guards.

The chamber could only be opened by two keys, one of which was always in the possession of the Templar Knight Commander – and it looked like Alte was as at ease with scavenging as Solas was, not that it surprised her, in the least. The other belonged to the Grand Enchanter, and it was likely that the fox-faced mage did not want his superior to learn of its absence.

The thought of recuperating Solas' phylactery had been buzzing in Cassandra's head for the best part of the three days that had passed since the gathering, returning no matter how many times she swatted it away. There were logical reasons for it, of course – she'd seen, first hand, what the elf could do, and understood that once the dust cleared, whomever the new Knight Commander would be would insist that the elf be brought to a Circle. Technically, now, with a phylactery and a completed harrowing, Solas _was_ a circle mage, and by all laws…

Yet, she was assured that no Templar in the land would be able to catch the man. Finding him would be easy enough, but catching him…an entirely different matter. Despite the Templar Order's treason, Cassandra could not find it in herself to send so many to their deaths. How it would end was that Solas would kill them all, and recuperate his phylactery on his own. Better to preempt that. Besides, whatever or whomever the man was, he was distinctly not dangerous. Rather keen on his artefacts, cheeky as hell, but not dangerous – and even if the elf had demonstrated mercy, and allowed himself to be taken, well…

_It was said that caged song birds forgot how to sing, even if their cage was gilded…No, no, no!_

Cassandra furiously gritted her teeth.

She was not about to break her own moral code just because this one mage truly did not belong in a cage; it was just that once within the cage, he would spread…sedition. Yes, sedition! among the other mages, and Maker knew there was already enough of that seething in the background. The last thing that the budding Templar against Mage fire that was already growing was more logs thrown onto the fire. The Circle of Montsimmard already had Alte to stir the pot of hot pepper stew, and given Alte's proximity to Edmonde, Edmonde himself must have been chafing, but too old and too wise to show it.

No, she was not doing this just because she liked the man a bit too much, by now. It was the logical thing to do.

She turned the first key in the lock, then the second, and pushed the door open, fully expecting that she would be struck by lightning. This was, after all, the holy grail of all phylactery rooms: only the Grand Enchanters' phylacteries were stored here, normally. Well, and those of well known criminals, or particularly dangerous individuals. Perhaps that had been why Alte had asked Cassandra to free Solas, and not anyone else; his phylactery was not in here, it would have been in Montsimmard.

Cassandra cautiously approached the neat row of delicate glass containers, only to find that there were far more than she thought. Some of them were dull, though, showing that the mages had long passed to the Maker. The others glowed from within, with such light that she did not even need to squint to read the labels – the Templars had not bothered with names: the crevices were simply labelled Orlais, Ferelden, Antiva, Kirkwall… She nearly jumped at the one who did have a name: Avexis, and the image of the girl hugging Alte tightly enough to cut his breath resurfaced in her mind with a vengeance. How odd, she thought, to have a barely there slip of a girl, who had not even the most minor intention of leaving the Circle still treated as a dangerous element.

Solas' one had no label; perhaps they'd thought even scribbling his name underneath it would be pointless, since he should have been dead within a few hours. It was, nonetheless mounted as all others, within a wooden circle that would allow a Templar to carry it on his girdle while riding.

Cassandra reached for it, finding her hand was trembling. She feared to drop the thing, in here, she feared not dropping it…

_Stop this stupidity at once._

She grabbed without further thought, then spun on her heels, locked the door behind her, and hurried up the steps, barely resisting the urge of slamming her own door behind her. She placed the keys exactly as she found them, then resumed her pacing. She was on a week's leave, but she had not the most minor urge to take it, not with the realm and the Chantry still in turmoil. She could have smashed it right here and now, then just wipe the floor or spill some wine – Solas would have been free, only he wouldn't have known it, and all would be well.

Except he'd live his life looking over his shoulder.

_Except I really want see him one last time, even if it is just to say goodbye, after all we've been through…_

'Ugh!' she grunted.

Since there was nothing in her new quarters that might have allowed her to take out her rage on something, anything, she beheld Alte's note as if she'd meant to set it on fire; she did not. Instead, she sat down at the desk and scribbled –

'Done as you asked, needed no prompt, Maker strike you with the mumps!

Your keys are here. And bloody hell, burn this note, or at least don't bloody sign it!

C.'

'Great, now I've signed it too,' she muttered, turning the parchment upside down, to cover the keys.

With resolute steps, she walked out the door once more.

* * *

Daw, Cassie...And you dare blame Varric for Swords and Shields... Moderate smut follows, thus be warned. And, of course, now you know why I needed the phylactery. Cassie might be a very young woman, but Solas is still Solas. He'd need a pretty significant gesture on her part to...well.

One chapter left, and it is a bit of a sad one,

Cheers,

A.

(Should I even have signed this?)


	8. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot,

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd…

_ Alexander Pope, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_

* * *

She fidgeted. She hated it when she fidgeted, but she was doing so now, and the only thought that she could hold was the fact that the cakes she'd brought him must have all flattened by now. And she'd spent a week's wages on them too, not to mention she had no idea why she had brought him…cakes.

_I might as well have bought him a bouquet of lilies. Because he is intoxicating._

Cassandra had not expected to find him so fast, but the phylactery's magic was strong. It had only taken her half a day to catch his trail, and a mere few hours to find him, once she had. And now, she was rather stupidly standing before yet another rock wall, a box containing cakes of all sorts in one hand, and his phylactery on her hip; she had not calculated anything beyond this point.

What was she supposed to do? _Knock?_

'I know you're in there,' Cassandra said, in a barely there voice.

'I know you're out there,' he responded.

Seconds ticked by.

'So, will you let me in?'

'If you ask politely.'

'I have frilly cakes.'

'That will do.'

The rock wall drew aside with a quiet rumble, and Cassandra stepped in, feeling neither fear, nor shame; there he stood, in his non-descript linen clothes and odd shoes, and…Maker, he _was_ handsome, or just perhaps very different from a clumsy initiate with a freckled face that she had rolled in the hay with once – a short, and embarrassing, fumbling affair, that had led them to never speak again.

'You really brought me cakes?' Solas asked, arching an eyebrow.

'I didn't imagine you'd be too keen on visiting Val Royaux anytime soon. I've also brought…'

'Yes, Cassandra, I have eyes,' he chuckled. 'Come in, sit down.'

She did.

It was yet another one of his ruins, so similar to the first one that she had the sensation that they had returned to the very beginning of it all. It was still beautiful; clear water was draining from above, forming a shy waterfall. The full moon reflected in a circular pool, that probably sheltered one of his rock-monsters… But she was not afraid this time, just…a bit nervous.

'It must have been hard for you,' Solas gently said.

'Not as hard as I would have liked,' Cassandra whispered in return. 'I just thought…I just wanted to see you again. If you could have, would you have…'

'No,' he responded. 'My affairs with your kind are concluded, for now; I expected that some of you would come for me, sooner or later, I just did not think you would do…this,' Solas ended, gesturing toward the phylactery. 'It contradicts all that you stand for.'

'Does it?' she asked, keeping her voice level, though she felt like a ring of thorns was growing around her heart.

_I should really stay away from those stupid romance novels. _

'The mages were _pardoned_ for their intervention. The Templar Order, even those who were not part of the conspiracy wanted their intervention to be a crime…'

Cassandra shook her head.

'No, this is not what I ever stood for. It is not something that I will ever stand for. Alte and his people saved our lives, and the day, and yet…They must remain criminals.'

'Of course they must. The whole social weave of your world would split apart seam from seam…'

'If it is all based on such lies, perhaps it should,' she rebelliously muttered. 'Divine Beatrix gave me… A writ of Inquisition. In private, but…'

'An Inquisition sounds like a lot of people on pyres,' he icily remarked.

She shook her head again. 'No, it's a…How do I explain?'

'An Inquisition is called when more than one of the Chantry's institutions fail. It is not a witch hunt, it is a call to realignment.'

'What happens to those who don't realign?'

'I don't know,' Cassandra surrendered, letting her shoulders slump. 'The last inquisition was called during the reign of Emperor Drakkon the Second, and it vanished into nowhere. Why must you always be so…aggravating?'

'Because I am aggravating,' the elf shrugged. 'Cake?'

'Don't you want your phylactery first, and then just kick me out? Get your cake all to yourself?'

'I think I should like to see you with your hair down, first,' Solas said. 'Feel free to pass me the cakes, while I undo your pony tail.'

_Oh, Maker, I didn't wash my hair…_

'I notice you have not washed your hair,' he said, on a very disapproving note.

'Can wash it now,' Cassandra offered. 'Or you could wash it for me?' she said.

_Like, seriously, fuck those romance novels…_

'Alright,' he conceded, without blinking. 'Off to the side of the pool you go. Nudity, or no nudity?'

'No nudity. You can employ some sort of carafe.'

'As you wish,' he replied, grinning. 'Go lie down, I shall be but a moment.'

She did lie down, letting her hair into the clear waters of the pool, and she did not budge until he straddled her, and lathered the minty whatever-it-was, probably dark magic, into her hair twice, rinsing it carefully each time. It was only after she reckoned her hair was thoroughly clean that she gripped his hips with her knees, lifted him and tumbled back into the pool carrying him with her.

He came up, spluttering a second later, and she was laughing her head off.

'Cassandra!' he exclaimed, in an annoyed tone.

'Oh, shut up,' she said, catching him in a bear like grip, pushing him against the side of the pool and pressing her lips to his.

_There._

If he had pulled away at that moment, she would have stopped, and probably drowned in embarrassment, but the man did not; he caught her head with both his hands, running his fingers though her hair and guiding her movements so that he could slip his tongue between her lips. He tasted like honeydew, and just a bit of wine, and she pressed herself to him, shamelessly opening her mouth wider, running her hand over his shoulders and back, then lower, over his stomach, lower still…

'Cassandra,' he breathed.

'What?'

'You're killing me…'

'_What?'_

'Iron breastplate,' he winced. 'Iron gloves. Iron smallclothes, far as my man parts can tell…'

_Oh, that was the other thing romance novels never mentioned._

'Erm, sorry, I mean, I'm really sorry…'

He smiled. 'No reason to.'

He kissed her back, playfully.

'Let's just get out of the water and ditch the no nudity rule,' Solas chuckled.

Free of her embrace, he easily lifted himself out of the water, then extended his hand to help her out. 'Let's be rid of all that,' Solas said, beginning to unclasp her breastplate, then gently placing it aside. Her boots came next, and she caressed his shoulders when he kneeled before her to undo them. Her undergarments were not made of iron though, so when she had naught but her shift to protect her modesty, she crossed her arms over her chest, and shivered.

Not only because she felt naked, but because the man was removing his wet clothes with such insouciance that one might have guessed he'd done it a thousand times, and unlike her, he had no shame of his body – not that he would have reason to have any, Maker…

'You're…er…'

'Thank you, you don't have to voice it.' Solas chuckled. 'Shall we resume?'

'Does that mean that I kiss you again, or just…maybe, _you_ kiss _me_ this time?'

He did, not as boldly as she had before, but gently, giving her time to get her arms to release her breasts, then become compliant enough to allow him to take her shift off, and over her head.

This was no fumbling in the hay; once she gently laid her on back, in the soft moss, flowers sprung all about her face, and their petals caressed every part of her body that he touched. He trailed kisses from her lips to her breasts, then to parts of her body that she had not even known were meant to be kissed.

Cassandra felt helpless, and she felt happy, and she felt…spoiled; she whimpered a little when he entered her, but she lifted her hips and pushed back, falling to his rhythm, not caring that once she had climaxed the flowers had sent pollen, and myriad, maddening scents towards the moon, not caring that mere seconds after she had climaxed she'd toppled him, and risen above him… Because this could not have been it, there must have been more…There was, and she had it, twice more, crying out his name in pleasure as if she could no longer remember her own…

They simply lay there, after, her head on his shoulder and his hand gently tracing the contours of her breasts.

'You are beautiful, you know,' Solas said, smiling. 'Even more so because you don't think about it. I…I apologise if I jested too much, in the beginning. You were just…funny.'

'Well,' Cassandra dreamily replied, nestling even closer, 'a virgin I was not, but…I am a bit shy, when it comes to this, you know?'

'In the books that I sometimes read,' she followed, blushing a little, 'courtship is…It is a bit how you started it, to be fair. On that first night, with the rose. And, with some wild variations, this could have been taken from one of my novels. Except you would be killing the dragons.'

'And you'd be in a tower, dressed in a pale pink gown, clutching your pearls while I performed great swashbuckling heroics?' he chuckled.

'Never liked those parts, but they seem to be a staple,' Cassandra shrugged. 'And then, of course, the books stop just before…yeah. I didn't know it could feel like this. I didn't even know it should feel like this. The man before you didn't even properly undress me.'

'His loss,' Solas said, rising on an elbow to kiss one of her breasts, and look at her from above.

'I don't even know you,' she whispered. 'Is Solas even your real name?'

'It is,' he chuckled, leaning over her to pick a flower, and place it behind her ear. 'Not my only one, but…'

'And you'd truly not have tried to see me again?'

'No,' he whispered, kissing her protests away. 'I am very old, old enough to recognise the difference between love and infatuation, Cassandra. And yes, I am infatuated with you too, before you ask. It is not your body, though you are truly beautiful – it is something else, something that comes from your heart and your mind; you are one of the genuinely best people I have run across in literal ages. You recognise injustice, you fight against it… If I believed in any divine being, I would pray that these things will not get you killed. Or that the world will not rob you of them, with the passage of time.'

'I think that _I_ might be in love,' she rebelliously muttered.

'You're not,' he smiled, leaning in for another kiss. 'But you will be, someday, and your prince in shining armour, on a white steed, will shout marriage proposals up at your castle walls, with not a tiny wild rose in his hand, but with hundreds of roses in his arms… While you probably will throw rocks at him, for disturbing the entire garrison, and trying to sneak a peek up your combat skirt.'

'Ugh,' she said, turning away. 'That's optimistic.'

'It is,' the man said, gently running his hand between her breasts, over her stomach, and finding his way to her sex; she gasped a little. 'The pessimistic view would be that you'd order your archers to straight out shoot at him, then, clutch your virtual pearls and hope that he won't be deterred by so little.'

She laughed, and spread herself on the moss, allowing him better access to her clitoris, and moaning lightly when pleasure rose once more.

'That _does_ sound like me,' she sighed, pulling him close, and once more melting to his touch and his embrace.

* * *

The gilded light of dawn was pouring though the gap in the ceiling, making the shy waterfall look like a river of fire; she'd lost count of how many times they'd made love, but judging by the many flowers that had invaded the cave floor, there must have been quite a few. He'd gotten up, at some point, they'd shared some of his stew, but none of the cakes… They had not bothered getting dressed.

'I won't ever see you again, will I?' she whispered.

'Uhmmmm…' the man replied.

He was busy, she thought, braiding a strand of her hair from her right temple to her left one.

'I'll miss you,' Cassandra whispered.

On the patch of moss where together they'd lain, the flowers were still open.

'No, you will not. Hold still,' he warned.

'Why not?'

She knew the answer, though, and she bitterly lowered her gaze.

'You'll make it so I won't even remember you,' Cassandra said. 'You'll make me forget you, just as you made Avexis forget you.'

'Yes, and it is for the best.'

'But why would you make me forget all this? I would…cherish it, I would rather…keep it, love or not.'

'That would be slightly unfair to your future lovers, Cassandra. I doubt many can make flowers bloom during intercourse…'

'Are you truly the demon god? The only living God of the elves, are you…'

'All done,' he whispered, kissing her temple.

'Answer me,' she demanded. 'Are you…You could just tell me the truth. If I am going to forget it anyway…'

'The flower that holds your braid in place is a forget-me-not.' Solas said. 'Not because you will not forget me, but because I shan't forget you. Fare you well, Seeker.'

'You can't just…After this…'

'May we never cross paths again,' Solas whispered, kissing her lips.

* * *

Why she was there, and how she's come to be there, Cassandra knew not. Amid tall grass, sky blue and blinding above. Her hair, done in a way that she would never have done it – grass in it too, a blue little flower, with orange veining across its petals…

She brushed it off in anger, then crushed it in her hand.

She was no one's doll, for them to do her hair as they pleased. Least of all with little blue flowers, and not if she couldn't bloody remember...

'Seeker, thank the Maker! You're alive!'

'Why would I not be?' she snarled, jumping to her feet.

'You've just been missing for three days, none knew where you went… The Divine was scared for you.'

The trotting of their horses made her nauseous.

'I'm fine,' Cassandra said; she used her sword to lift herself to her feet, but mounted her horse with no problems. 'Let's ride, if the Divine needs me. For the Maker!'

* * *

In Solas' hands one stone lit itself from within. He waited; he knew of at least one more, and it lit too, it the Circle of Montsimmard. Another sparked in the Fallow Mire; another still in Rivain, on Par Vollen, three more in Orlais, five in Antiva, two in Ferelden, six in the Free Marches…

Light after light, they all came to his call.

'Fen'Harel enasal enaste,' he whispered, closing his eyes; by the time he re-opened them, there were tens of thousands of lights.

'Welcome back, Dread Wolf,' a voice amid the thousands answered.

'Andaran Atish'an. I have kept you all waiting too long. Let us begin.'

* * *

And, there you have it. Happy ending, I guess... Or is it simply bitter-sweet? As we all know what will happen next...

Solas, and his agenda, Cassie and her novels, eh? At least I think he is sincere about the infatuation; there are plenty of things about Cassie to love, but he is genuinely, mentally too old for her, and I guess that, in the end, he really does not want to hurt her.

Let me know what you think!

Thank you for reading, this is genuinely my first ever finished story. I know, I know...


	9. End note

p class="MsoNormal"Well, well, well…/p  
p class="MsoNormal"That came surprisingly easy. Took a little over a week to write, and I shall notify you when IvI's piece comes up, as I have now thrown down the proverbial gauntlet. And it was HIS idea, to see how mah man and his lady might get along, so…/p  
p class="MsoNormal"When he does finish, I warmly encourage you to give it a try. We write together, but we post from my account, so when you are fave-ing me, you are actually fave-ing us both./p  
p class="MsoNormal"Do not worry, we shall return to our regularly scheduled programming on Monday. We've just indulged in this because clicks, reads, faves, and, of course comments are the only rewards we get, and they basically vanish during the summer months, thus we always slow down on posting during summer./p  
p class="MsoNormal"I thank you for taking the time to read this; I hope it was amusing at some points, sad at others, and not too boring on the fight scenes for those of you who have seen the movie./p  
p class="MsoNormal"./bow/p  
p class="MsoNormal"Abstract./p 


End file.
